The Children Of Zohr
by Senmut
Summary: While scouting ahead of the Fleet, Starbuck and Apollo encounter new players in this region of space. Follows Slave Masters. VS story.


Virtual Season 2

Episode 11

THE CHILDREN OF ZOHR

CHAPTER ONE

"I see it," said Starbuck, looking at his scanner. "Right on the very edge of my range."

"Yeah," said Apollo. "It's a ship alright, but we're still too far to get anything more definite."

"Except for that distress call. Do we check it out?"

"That's what we came out here for, but I don't want us wandering into a Cylon lure," he replied. _Or another Iblis lure, either, _he added mentally, but said nothing of that.

He and Starbuck had launched from the _Galactica_ for their regularly scheduled patrol, somewhat late due to a minor mechanical problem with Starbuck's ship. For the first centar or so, there was nothing to distinguish this patrol from countless others before it. Stars. Empty space. Nothing. Stars. Until the signal from ahead They had detected a signal coming from directly on the patrol's plotted vector, on a delta frequency. Very weak and intermittent, the signal had so far defied both the Viper's computer's limited ability at cryptanalysis as well as identification.

"Hold on, Starbuck, I'm going to try raising the _Galactica_ and see if I can get their input on this."

"Are we still within range for that?"

"Yeah, we caught a lucky break on that, being late, so we might as well take advantage of it. They should also be able to get our telemetry scans too." Several centons later, thanks to a certain degree of time lag, Commander Adama's voice was coming through.

"We're getting it, Apollo. No response?"

"Nothing yet, Commander."

"Well, since it's less than a single millicenton of arc off your patrol's plotted course, check it out, fuel permitting."

Fuel would permit, but just barely. After what seemed like endless centars homing on the tenuous signal, but was in reality only two, Starbuck had at last gotten a strong blip on his scanner, and the signal was coming in more strongly now. Apollo's scanner confirmed, and they both ran the checks. Nothing in the Warbook matched the scanner signature, no language in the Viper's admittedly limited database matched what they were hearing.

"…_en bakht, kazhe…makhet...akh'dib! Plagkh nesh por…lag…"_

"Apollo?"

"The Languatron doesn't recognize it, Starbuck. It's a new one. What's your scanner say?"

"It's a ship, no question about it. Power signatures are low and fluctuating, though. Hardly more than a shuttle. No life signs. You?"

"Same, but we're still pretty far away. Visual range in…" Apollo checked his instruments. "Visual range in nine centons…mark."

"Mine confirms." Starbuck linked activated the telemetry link, sending everything he was scanning back to the _Galactica _in real-time. Hopefully, the vastly greater database and computing power aboard the Battlestar might come up with something their limited Viper systems could not.

"She's not responding to standard hails," said Apollo. "And now I'm picking up elevated radion levels."

"Damn near lethal," said Starbuck. "Somebody's hurt bad, I'm betting."

"Me too," said the Captain. "And I'm picking up debris in our path. But no chances. We split up, and approach her from either side, Starbuck. Just in case."

"Affirmative, Apollo," replied Starbuck, banking away from his CO.

The contact was now large on both pilot's scanners, and Starbuck swung out on a long arc, gradually bringing his ship in from exactly 180 degrees from where Apollo was doing the same. His attack scanner was locked, his lasers hot, just in case this was some sort of Cylon trick. Keeping his thumb on the firing button, he looked up as the mysterious contact came into view.

It was a ship, slightly longer than the _Gemini_ freighter, and about as wide. But this was no freighter. Heavily built, some sort of tower or control platform rose from the body of the vessel, slightly aft of the center. Forward this were two huge gun emplacements, three barrels per turret, and two similar arrays aft. On the sides of the ship were smaller emplacements, and what the scanners read as torpedo tubes. Two front, two aft, two on the beams of the ship, as well as two on the "lower" hull. It seemed as if almost every possible spot on the ship was bristling with weapons.

"Look at that," said Apollo, almost in awe. "Over forty weapon's arrays on a ship no bigger than the _Gemini._"

"Maybe somebody got a good discount on 'em," quipped Starbuck. Apollo responded with a noise best left unrecorded, and continued scanning. "Massive armor plating on her hull, Apollo. Look at that belt!"

"I see it. Lord, it's thick. Probably the only reason she's still in one piece. Computron doesn't have any analog on the alloy."

"Uh huh. She looks like she was broadsided by an armada!"

Indeed she did. Sections of the hull near the bow looked as if they had been peeled back like some obscenely huge piece of fruit, then punched inwards. Deep burn marks and rips in the hull amidships, too numerous to count, had torn more of her hull open to space. The control tower or whatever it was dark, many of its ports or windows blown open to vacuum. Aft, near the huge thrusters, more gashes in the hull bespoke massive firepower brought to bear on this ship by someone. From the kind of weapons this ship carried, Apollo could envision whoever it was getting as good as they gave. One gun turret was blown open, a shredded wreck, but the others, though battered and scorched, looked intact.

"Yeah, she's leaking," said Apollo, as they passed under the vessel. Deep wounds into her belly were venting gases and fluids, some of them highly radioactive, chunks of wreckage floating along side. There was no sign of active power, save for a single blinking running light, and the vessel appeared to be drifting, her thrusters dark. "You picking up any life signs, Starbuck?"

"Hard to tell, with all the radion-laden crud she's trailing. "Let me…Yeah. On wavelon delta delta delta stroke epsilon six. See it?"

"No, I…got it. Yes. Biosigns, but there's just too much interference to localize them. Drifting in and out." Apollo passed over the ship once more, impressed by both its massive construction, and degree of damage it had sustained. For anything short of a Battlestar or a BaseShip to take _this_ kind of punishment, and still be in something resembling one piece…he shook his head, and hailed the alien vessel once more. As before, there was no response. The signal that had drawn them here continued, apparently an automatic distress beacon.

"Apollo?"

"Hold on, Starbuck. _Galactica,_ are you getting all of this?"

"We're getting it, Apollo," said Commander Adama, a few moments later. "No response?"

"None, Commander. Just what sounds like a looped distress call. There don't seem to be any functional landing bays on this ship. What looks like one aft is dark, and seems to have taken a direct hit."

"But I see several docking ports," added Starbuck. "If there are survivors aboard, maybe we should help."

"Neither of you is equipped for boarding, or for elevated radion," said Adama. "Return to the _Galactica _at once. And report to the War Room as soon as you land."

"Yes, sir," said both Warriors, then Apollo saw something. Something floating in space near the wreck, tumbling away from it. He eased on over, for a closer look. He scanned it until…

"_Galactica, _this is Apollo. I'm picking what looks like some kind of escape pod."

"A pod?" asked Tigh. "Can you give us some visual, Captain?"

"Yes. It didn't get very far. It seems to have been struck by debris ejected from the wreck." He zoomed in on it with his scanner. The pod was a small, roundish affair, with four small thruster nozzles aft, and two viewports in front. Its diameter was about the length of a Viper, and apart from the metal chunks embedded in its side near the small hatch, seemed intact. "It seems fairly intact, except for the hatch. It's been ripped open by debris. I am also picking up signs of biological material inside, Commander. It's a body."

"Poor devil," said Starbuck. "Air sucked out into space. Never had a chance."

"Commander, request permission to retrieve the pod and bring it back."

"Apollo?"

"We're moving into a new and apparently hostile area of space, Father. We need data, and we need it fast. I scan significant iron in the pod's hull, so I can use my landing gear to effect capture. Once back, the LSO can use the grappler arm to bring it into the bay."

"Apollo, we've never done that before," said Starbuck. "Except in training."

"Well, here's where we put our training to the test. Father?"

"Granted. I'll tell Salik and Life Station to stand by."

"Thank-you." Apollo maneuvered alongside the lifeboat, and matched his Viper's spin to that of the alien craft. Once in sync, he extended his landing gear, watching his scanner till the soft _thump, _as well as the indicator light, told him he'd made contact. Once joined, he flipped a switch, and his gear magnetized, holding him fast to the pod's hull. Alongside, eyes watchful for any problem, Starbuck gave his skipper the thumbs up.

"Looking good, Apollo. A perfect hook-up."

"_Galactica, _alien pod is secure."

"Acknowledged, Apollo. Return at once."

"On our way, Commander." Both pilots gave the area a final sweep with their scanners, then, turning their Vipers around, they headed back for the Fleet. With a blast of turbos, Starbuck was gone, Apollo accelerating more slowly so not to lose his impromptu cargo, leaving the alien vessel once more crying out alone into the darkness.

"Definitely a warship," said Adama, as the scans from the Vipers were replayed for him. "I've never seen one like it.'

"Neither has the _Galactica_'s computer," added Tigh. "We did a search of our data banks. Even the old classified files. Nothing."

"Well, I detected life signs," said Starbuck. "Someone inside that ship besides the guy in the pod survived the initial attack. Maybe we ought to help."

"Colonel?" asked Adama, turning to his old wingman.

"I agree. Captain Apollo is correct, sir. We're moving into a new and unknown area of space. It could be that ship and any surviving crew aboard could supply us with data on the region ahead."

"The Colonel's right, Father," said Apollo. "Whoever hit that ship obviously has a lot of firepower at their disposal. We need information, and we need it fast." He looked at his chrono. "At our current speed, the Fleet will reach the wreck's position in less than two days. We should go back, and try and board her, while there's still some distance between us."

"Very well. Prepare a shuttle, with all the equipment you need, and be ready to launch in…" He stopped, as the door to the War Room opened. It was Corporal Lomas." Yes?"

"Sorry to interrupt, Commander, but I found something you may want to have a look at. I found some data on that alien ship Captain Apollo's patrol scanned."

"You did? Where?"

"We've succeeded in squeezing some uncorrupted data out of the computer aboard the slaver vessel captured at Boron-Din." He held up a data chip, and Adama nodded. Lomas slid it into the terminal, and on screen was a graphic of the same sort of vessel. "It seems the Ziklagi slavers have met these folks before."

"Commander," came Salik's voice over the IC. "I have a preliminary report for you, sir. On the alien."

CHAPTER TWO

The corpse in the _Galactica'_s autopsy room was a real mess. Decompression, the icy cold of space, and whatever injuries the alien had suffered pre-mortem had all taken a gruesome toll. Even having thawed hadn't done much for the fellow. **The instant Apollo took a sniff, he wrinkled his nose in disgust as he realized that having it thawed for examination had only made it worse.**

**Dr. Paye, the deputy Chief Medical Officer, had been given primary responsibility for the examination since he had more background and training in alien pathology than his superior, Salik, did. For some time, he stood hunched over the corpse in fascination, and it made Apollo marvel at how immune the doctor seemed to be to the repellent appearance and odor it gave off.**

**"Your report, Doctor?" Adama inquired with an air of impatience. He too was finding the smell intolerable and the sooner he had an excuse for leaving the room, the better.**

"Well," said Dr. Paye, "as you can see, this was a male Humanoid, of slightly larger size and build then your average Human. Closer to a Borellian Nomen in bulk. However, Human he was not. As you can see, his skin has a pronounced blue pigmentation."

"An aftereffect of being frozen?" asked Adama.

"Well, the pigmentation runs deep into the dermal tissue, Commander," said Paye, again annoying Adama with his tendency to start almost every sentence with "well". "It was his natural coloring. From his skeleton, it looks as if he came from a world with a gravity almost the same as Caprica, but his lung capacity is enormous, denoting a thinner atmosphere. And," here he held up a vile of azure fluid, "this is a sample of what remains of his blood."

"Blue as well," said Apollo.

"Yes," said Paye. He turned on a screen, showing a magnification of the alien blood cells. "The analog in his blood to hemoglobin in the oxygen carrying corpuscles is based on copper, rather than iron, Captain. His corpuscle count was nearly double what our red cell count would be, so he was used to less oxygen than we are. The surviving air reserves from his escape pod's supply confirm that. Only about 17 oxygen, compared to our 21 His internal arrangement is also different from our own, as you can see." He pulled back a flap of tissue, exposing the interior of the body.

"What killed him?" asked Adama.

"Explosive decompression when debris from his ship pierced the escape pod's hatch, as well as severe trauma to both the skull and chest cavity. Numerous fractures. That and with the burns you can see on his face and chest, the poor fellow never had a serious chance."

"Commander, if the Ziklagi weapons could do that to his ship," said Starbuck, "we'd better find out all we can. And fast."

"Well," began Paye again, "we have identified his species, Commander. He's from a race called the Zohrloch."

"How did you find that out, Doctor? We only just learned that from data recovered from the Ziklagi vessel."

"Well, he's not our first example, Commander," said Paye, and touched the IC. "Cassie, you can bring him in." Almost at once, the door to another inner ward opened, and Cassiopeia entered, escorting an alien. He was tall, powerfully built, and his skin was an unmistakeable blue.

"Commander," said the alien, his accent thick and unfamiliar, "Sargamesh kor Tog, son of Kassa I greet you." He made a fist, and pounded it on his chest. _"Bakh'rha!" _

During the escape from the planet Boron-Din, a few aliens had been among the liberated slaves. Although all were Humanoid, more or less, a few were stand-outs. Sargamesh was one of these, having the same pronounced bluish pigmentation as the dead man from the wreck. Adama had greeted all the newcomers to their voyage when they had come aboard, but his myriad duties had kept him from actually getting to know any of them. That and the language barriers had basically kept them out of his day-to-day thoughts. Now, at least one of those races was back in.

Horace, a student of Professor Pliny's, the Fleet's most erudite and experienced linguist, had worked with the Languatron banks to try and open communications with their alien guests. A young man with great drive, he had succeeded to some extent, finding some languages more amenable to decipherment than others. One, which seemed to have no firm rules as to verb conjugations, had nearly driven him into a mental ward, while another had had a syntactical structure so similar to Colonial Standard as to prove a breeze.

Sargamesh's tongue, however, was neither of these. It fell somewhere in between on the frustration scale, and now that it had risen in importance, Horace was back on it like a Viper on Cylons. He was ensconced with Sargamesh and Korl, the only other of his race aboard the Fleet, working out the full rendering of their speech, ever since getting the word from Adama.

Sargamesh's people, the Zohrlochs, were a warrior race, who saw combat and strife as the most natural part of life. More natural than sex, breathing, or even eating. Trained almost from birth in the arts of combat, all Zohrloch males were expected to serve their ruler, the Zohr, in some capacity. They had, so it was learned, built and ruled a considerable empire, the _Shapa Zohrlochim_. Their home planet, called Eridu, was a harsh, desert world, although where exactly that was, in relation to the _Galactica'_s current locale was unknown to them. The navigational database aboard the captured Ziklagi ship had been damaged, with the loss of more than 80 of its data.

Although violent both by nature and by upbringing, Sargamesh could also be polite, indeed almost courtly. While women in his society, with rare exceptions, occupied a position of near-total subservience, he had quickly come to understand that among most Colonials, it was different. The degree of courtesy he showed to Sheba, Siress Tinia, and Cassiopeia struck Apollo as surprisingly flexible for someone from a society that, on the surface at least, had appeared so rigid. But for the moment, it was the potential knowledge in his head for which Adama was most eager. Once the linguistic interface was worked out to a tolerable level, Sargamesh and Korl were brought to the War Room for a de-briefing.

Both men had been on a small, exploratory scout vessel, traveling well beyond the boundaries of their known space, seeking information about piratical raids on the fringes of their empire. These raids, they had learned, were the work of the Ziklagi, a race as warlike and as ruthless, it seemed, as their own.

But, they had never returned home with their information. Over three sectars ago, by Colonial reckoning, their ship was attacked, and only Sargamesh and Korl had survived. Transported off their pulverized vessel, they had awakened in the filthy hold of a slave ship, before being taken to market on Boron-Din, doomed to dig ore for their new masters. But, both men had an untamable and rebellious spirit, and after killing a few of their overseers trying to escape, had ended up in the gladiatorial arena, where they had encountered Jolly, and eagerly joined in his rebellion. Not wishing to spend the rest of their days on a backwater like Boron-Din, they had opted to join the Colonial Fleet, in the hopes of one day, perhaps, finding their way home.

"Yes, it is one of ours," said Sargamesh, as he was shown telemetry from the Vipers of the wreck ship. "A medium cruiser, of the _Yazdir _class, or so it appears, though I cannot see the name of this one. I once served aboard such a vessel." It seemed to Apollo that there was a note of regret in his voice at this revelation.

"_N'eshnakh sefrit et!"_ spat Korl, too fast for the Languatron to render quickly, as he looked at the images of the blasted ship. Sargamesh nodded approvingly of his comrade's comment.

"What did he say?" asked Adama. Horace showed him the Languatron readout. "Oh."

"How long till we reach ship?" asked Korl, whose full name seemed to be Korl kor Ubar, son of Korl. This, they were told, meant that he was Korl, of the House of Ubar, and was the son of a man also named Korl.

"Almost another full day," said Adama. "We intend to board her, if possible. Can you assist us?"

"We can. We go aboard too?" asked Sargamesh. Tigh looked to his CO, and Adama nodded.

"She's dead ahead," said Starbuck, at the controls of the shuttle, Giles as co-pilot. "ETA with the wrecked ship in nine and a half centons, Apollo."

"Good. Any response to hails?"

"Still nothing. Just the automatic message. Cassie?"

"Medical equipment, and medtech, ready to go."

"Sargamesh. Korl." Both Zohrlochs turned to Apollo. "Do you recognize her at all?" Both aliens studied the magnified scans on the shuttle's dash. After a centon or so, they could see the ship's name. Korl nodded."

"It is the _Nem'lach._ A medium cruiser. I know nothing of the vessel

"Okay, let's start getting into our suits," said the Captain. Apollo went to the equipment lockers, and took out one suit, which he handed to Starbuck, then began getting into another. The alien vessel was already a speck in the ports when the Zohrlochs began suiting up, which, the Colonials noticed, they did with a practiced ease despite the unfamiliar design, or their long, elaborate beards, and Lt. Giles slowed and pulled them alongside the tumbling ship. With a deft hand, he matched spin and tumble, and brought the universal docking cowl up against an undamaged airlock on the ship's port side. After a few tense centons, the lights went green.

"We've got a seal," announced Giles. "Docking integrity confirmed."

"Okay," said Apollo, checking his weapon. "Let's go."

The airlock hatch was shut tight, its flashing lights indicating that for it, at least, all was well. Apollo scanned the mechanism for a few moments, then shook his head.

"Keypad, and we don't know the code." He looked at the two Zohrlochs, and indicated the pad. Without hesitation, Korl stepped up, and began entering code. After what seemed like half a centar, but was really only about five centons, the panel lit up brightly, and the latches began to slide loose. The airlock opened, and Starbuck scanned the interior. It was dark, with only the faint pulse of emergency lighting visible.

"Everything seems okay," he said, and Apollo went inside first.

And promptly fell flat on his astrum, as the shift in direction from one ship's gravity to another made itself apparent. Seen from outside, the shuttle was docked level to the alien's long axis. Once out of the shuttle's gravity however, Apollo found himself walking sideways into nothing, and…

"_Fraaaa…"_

"Apollo?" called Starbuck, and his friend disappeared. He moved into the ship, more cautiously, and shone his lamp around. Apollo was still in a heap on the floor, looking up at him. "Oh. What are you doing down there, Apollo?"

"Contemplating your afterlife, Starbuck," replied the Captain, slowly, as he picked himself up. Checking out his suit, and tailbone, and finding both undamaged, he reached out to help the rest inside. Once done, he scanned the surrounding area once more. "Looks like the gravity generator for this area is knocked off axis." He looked at Starbuck. "Next time, tell me about the gravity shift, okay?" smiled Apollo, a smile worthy of Iblis. "Or better yet, you go first."

"Well, I…" he stuttered, and Cassie couldn't help a laugh.

"Uh huh." Giving his offended tailbone one last massage, Apollo drew his weapon, and they set out.

"The air pressure is low," said Cassie, scanning. "Less than ten percent of the _Galactica'_s. Very little oxygen left in it."

According to Sargamesh, this part of the ship contained the galley, ship's stores, and enlisted men's quarters. No apparent signs of damage could be seen, apart from the near-darkness, and absence of crew. After moving along the seemingly tilted deck, they came to an open hatch, through which a dim light was showing. Cautiously, they moved through it, and found their first signs of serious damage. The bulkhead the hatch was built into was bent, and several cables and broken conduits from the ceiling were draped across their path. The air was filled with smoke, and signs of fire were evident. As they continued, the damage got worse, till the way ahead was blocked entirely by collapsed bulkheads and buckled decks.

And their first sign of crew. Both Cassiopeia and one of the Zohrlochs knelt to examine the man, but they were clearly much too late. The fellow had been burned, and partly crushed by collapsing wreckage. The blood on his uniform and the deck was dried.

"Monsters!" spat Sargamesh, as they examined the dead crewman.

"What killed him?" asked Apollo.

"It looks like massive blast trauma," answered Cassie. "He was close to something when it exploded. That, and from the burns I'd say he was hit by a hot electrical cable." A metron or so from the corpse lay a torn cable trunk. The scanner read it as still hot. Cassie stood up.

"How do we get to the bridge?" asked Starbuck.

"We must go back," said Sargamesh, "and turn left at the last hatch." He led them, stepping over scattered wreckage, to another hatchway, this one sealed. As before, they tried the pad, but the hatch refused to budge. "Locked out," said the Zohrloch. "I can't open it this way."

"Well," began Starbuck, when the alien drew his weapon, and pointed it at the hatch.

"But this way..." He fired, blowing the hatch controls to pieces, and then again to free the lock. He grabbed the handle, and began to shove. Together he and Korl slid the hatch open. "Works as well."

"Ooookay," said Cassie. "That'll work."

Back on the shuttle, somewhat bored at being left behind, Giles followed the progress of the boarding party on their suit transponders. He also monitored the radion levels in the areas they were moving through. So far, nothing a Human couldn't handle, and the suits took care of that.

He also kept an eye on the shuttle's scanners. Though they were not of the power of a Viper's, he still had no intention of being caught flat-footed, if any unfriendlies decided to show up all of a sudden. No way was what had happened to Jolly back on Boron-Din going to happen to him, not if he had anything to say about it.

Through the hatch, the gravity seemed to right itself, giving the view ahead a more normal feeling. Like the area behind, this one was badly damaged, with collapsed bulkheads, buckled decks, and wreckage torn from everywhere blocking their path. There were also more bodies, none as intact as the first one they had found. After stepping over the rubble, Sargamesh brought them to another hatch, this one to a lift. It was dead as well, and with a few curses, he showed them a ladder-well, a short distance to their right.

"Giles?" asked Apollo.

"Captain?"

"Still got us?"

"Yes, sir. From the scans, the passage you're at should take you up several decks."

"What about atmosphere?"

"About twenty or so metrons up, there's a sealed hatch in the tube. Beyond it, she's hulled. Two decks above that, I read air again."

"Roger. Any life signs?"

"A few, but they seem weak and scattered."

"Okay, Giles. Thanks."

Thanks to their suits, the boarding party passed through the hulled area with ease. Once the hatch was resealed below them, they had a view of even more destruction. Decks were peeled up, wreckage hung in shreds from above, and they had a wonderful vista of the naked stars through a wide gap ripped in the side of the ship. Outside, through the twisted metal, they could see wreckage, and more bodies, floating alongside the vessel. Apollo turned to his left, at a sudden flash of light, but it was merely torn cables, sparking as their ripped ends bumped against each other.

"What the Hades Hole did they use?" said Starbuck, examining the torn metal. The wound in the ship's side was from the outside in, the obvious result of some successful enemy salvo. He carefully touched the jagged edge of one torn plate. The metal had been torn under great force, like a pulled piece of child's candy. He scanned the edge, as requested by Dr. Wilker, in the hopes of learning more about the attacker's weapons.

"Plasmatic ripper beams," said Sargamesh, in reply. "A plasma derived from radioactive material is directed at the target. As you can see, it is most effective."

"Then we better get to the bridge, and see if any of her scanner logs have survived," said Apollo. "We're going to need them."

CHAPTER THREE

The ladder had been obliterated with the rest of that section, so Apollo fired a magnetic tether up into the well, where it resumed. One by one they were all lifted, and resumed their climb. The ladder-well's next hatch was blown open, but after two more decks were traversed this way, they found themselves in air once more.

"Almost no oxygen left," said Cassie, scanning. "Down to about four percent, here. All the fires."

"Sargamesh?"

"Bridge this way, Captain," said the Zohrloch, indicating.

"Commander, the wrecked ship is now within our scanner range," said Tigh, as Adama signed off on some routine reports, handing them back to Petty Officer Wu. "We'll be able to pick up visual telemetry from the shuttle and boarding party in approximately four more centons, at our current speed."

"Good. And the rest of our scanners?"

"All still clear, sir. Greenbean and Jolly's patrol launched twelve centons ago," said the Exec, looking at his chrono, "and has reported no signs of any ships whatsoever. Sheba and Barton's is scheduled to go in three centons, and then Croad and Dietra's fifteen after that."

"Good, Colonel." Adama looked at the scanner screen a few moments, wondering where, in all that vastness, _they _were. Not just the Cylons; no doubt they were still looking for the Fleet as a matter of course. But the others, the Ziklagi slavers, a race as vicious and as cruel as the Cylons themselves. Where, in all that immensity were _they_? He had no doubts at all that they were out there, watching. Waiting. Sooner or later, they would meet again, he was certain, and when _that_… "Yes?" he asked, suddenly aware that Tigh was still there, looking at him.

"You look tired, sir."

"I…yes. Yes, I am, Tigh," said Adama, rubbing his eyes and for a moment feeling as if he had never slept in his entire life.

"The Council again?"

"Does it show?" asked Adama, and the two old friends shared a chuckle. "Yes. Sire Antipas keeps pestering me about the census, and the food supply status, and whatever else he can dream up to bother me with. I swear that man never reads a single report submitted to the Council. That, and the Tribunal for Samuels and Wilmer, with the sentencing coming up soon, and…" he looked about, dropping his voice, "worrying about the shapechanger loose aboard, and now this wrecked ship. Yes, I'm tired." He rubbed his eyes again. "I feel like I could sleep until we reach Earth. Whenever _that_ ends up being."

"Would you like to take a sleep period, Adama? I don't mind covering."

"I'd best not, Tigh. I need to be here, with this. Besides, I don't want to abandon you to the tender graces of Antipas, should he show his face on the bridge, or hand him yet another point to bring up at Council meetings to use against me." He dropped his voice once more. "I'm sure he has his spies even on the bridge, Colonel." Tigh stiffened a bit, and spared a furtive look around.

"Any idea as to who, sir?"

"Not yet, but I found this, earlier today, shortly after I logged on watch." Reaching into his cloak, Adama drew out a small electronic circuit, no bigger than a coin. "I found this, under my console. It seems to have been glued, and not very well." Tigh picked it up. The design was similar to the basic circuits used in military-design intercoms, of which there were countless all over the _Galactica, _but tribunal-rigged, somewhat amateurish, and thanks to Adama, now dead.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Get it to Boomer. He's an electronics prodigy, as we know. See if he can figure out who might have made it, it's range, and so forth." The Commander dropped his voice even lower. "I don't even want Wilker to know about it."

"Wilker?" Tigh thought a moment. "Yes, sir."

"And ask him to sweep my quarters at his first opportunity."

"Your quarters?"

"Uri did it," Adama reminded him.

"Right away, sir."

"Commander," said Omega, "visual now coming in from the shuttle."

"Good. Transfer to my console, please." Adama looked up, and Tigh headed for the exit.

"Transferring, Commander."

The hatch to the bridge was jammed part-way open, and blocked by debris. Carefully, Apollo gripped the edge of the door, and pulled. No good. Starbuck joined in, and the door began to move, screeching noisily.

"What a mess," said Starbuck, as they took in the damaged chamber. The bridge was dimly lit, only a few emergency lights apparently functioning, and the deck was littered with debris. Like other parts of the wreck, gravity seemed less than certain. As he flashed his illuminator about, Starbuck could see metal plates, scorched and burned, covering what he assumed must have been the bridge windows. Unlike the bridge of a Colonial vessel, this one was more compact, with what appeared to be the Captain's seat, on an elevated platform, looking over all stations, back to the aft bulkhead. In front of it were a number of stations, presumably those of helm and navigation. Along the bulkheads of the square room were a number of other stations, which Korl explained were defense, internal security, scanning, life support, and so on. Apollo noted, without comment, that the security station took up double the space of any other.

"Good Lord," said Apollo, taking it in. Wreckage hung from the ceiling in tatters, cables, piping, and shredded circuits, making it difficult to move about. "I don't know how anything here could still function." He moved over to one console, where, surprisingly, a single screen still worked. It showed the shuttle, docked and waiting.

"Cassie!" called Starbuck, as he nearly tripped over something. It was a body, pinned under a fallen support. Cassie ran a scanner over the prostrate form, and shook her head.

"Too late, Starbuck. His whole chest looks to have been crushed when that piece of metal landed on him." She pointed. "I found another two more over there, too. Dead."

"Same with this one," said Apollo, indicating yet another crewman. This one was ripped by flying debris, face and chest savaged by the conflagration that had smashed his ship, his uniform burned almost off. From what remained of his elaborate costume, Apollo judged him to have been the Captain of the vessel.

"What the…" began Starbuck, turning in shock as something flashed with a loud popping sound. Over by another console, torn cables were sparking and a panel was burning anew. "Sargamesh?" He looked about, and saw the two Zohrlochs bent over something. "Guys?"

"Trying to access the internal sensors, Starbuck," said one of the men. Both were turned away, and Starbuck couldn't tell who had spoken. Grabbing an extinguisher from their equipment pack, Starbuck doused the small fire.

"Starbuck, the _Galactica _is in visual telemetry range, now," said Giles. "_Galactica, _are you getting this?"

"Affirmative, Giles." came Adama's voice, scratchy but recognizeable. "Looks like a mess, Apollo."

"Yes. Like she was used for gunnery practice. I don't think I've ever seen a ship this badly hammered before. Not even in our training simulations at the Academy."

"Yes!" said one of the Zohrlochs. Sargamesh turned, and motioned the Colonials over. One console was still functioning fairly well it seemed, and it's screens were filled with interior views of the vessel. Korl was pushing a series of buttons, and getting bleeps in return. "Survivors."

"Are you getting this, Commander?" asked Apollo.

"Yes. In fact, we're picking up a new transmission from the wrecked ship, Apollo. She's transmitting her logs to us right now."

"Sargamesh?"

"You will need information," was his simple reply. He moved from that panel to another.

"I find six still alive," said Korl. He indicated a small screen on the console. "Five are here." He pointed to a small area. "The ship's armory. Port side, six decks down. Internal scans are out on the starboard side of the ship. I cannot tell there."

"And the sixth?" asked Starbuck.

"Here," said Cassie, from a far corner of the smashed bridge. She was struggling with a piece of debris, but Korl was there in a flash, and lifted the hunk of metal as if it were nothing. He ignored her 'thanks' and knelt by the injured form. "I don't know how, but this one is still alive," Cassie told the rest. "Lords, how can someone live with a pulse this _low_?"

"Don't ask me," began Starbuck. "I'm no…" He stopped, as the lights jumped to almost normal levels, and the smoke slowly began to clear. He and Apollo looked around, and saw Sargamesh, hands inside an open panel, turn to look at them.

"Emergency life support system. Restored to bridge now," he said. Looking at an indicator for a few moments, he then proceeded to pop his helmet. Korl followed suit.

"We're up to almost ten percent oxygen, now," said Cassie. "Radion is still high, but tolerable for the present." Apollo popped his helmet as well, then the rest.

"Hey, you sure that's a good idea, folks?" asked Giles, over their commlinks.

"Well, we can breath," said Starbuck. "It stinks like Hades in here, but at least we can breath."

"Smells like the mines of Carillon," said Apollo, wrinkling his nose. But even as he spoke, the air seemed to slowly freshen. At least some of the air scrubbers worked. "_Galactica, _we have a survivor here."

"Not for long, unless I can get him to the Life Station," said Cassie. "His vitals are slipping. Commander?" As she spoke, the injured man opened his eyes, trying to focus on her. He also tried to rise, rasping out something unintelligible. Korl said something to him, and he sank back down, lapsing once more into unconsciousness.

"Transport at once, Cassie. Apollo?"

"We'll need a few more people, Father, to get the rest of the survivors out. That armory is deep inside the ship."

"Understood. I'll alert Major Croft."

"Right. Giles?"

"Right here, Captain."

"Concentrate your scans onto the starboard side of this wreck. There may be some more survivors there."

"You got it, Captain," replied Giles.

"Starbuck, give me a hand," said Cassie. "Time's a wasting on this guy."

Giles' scans had picked up a dozen or so faint life readings scattered through the rest of the _Nem'lach._ By the time a team was assembled, the first group had been contacted, through Sargamesh and Korl, and informed of the situation. Hurt, wary, and not disposed to turning their fate over to strangers, they nonetheless evacuated, rather than open fire with the impressive arms they had about them, once they knew the score. Only two could walk, so the going was slow. All remaining survivors aboard the _Nem'lach _had been located by the time the _Galactica_ came within visual range of the wrecked ship. Now, with both doctors and staff trying to make sense of the alien's physiology _and_ figure out their medical data, it was a race against time for the injured men.

"What's the prognosis, Doctor?" asked Adama, a few centars later, in Life Station. All the rescued men were being examined or treated.

"They all have radion poisoning, as I expected," said Salik, his scrubs stained blue. "We're trying to treat it, but our anti-radion drugs and blood filters don't seem to mesh well with their physiology. Sargamesh is leading two of my medics to their Life Station, to try and collect all the drugs they can find. I just hope we can make sense of their medical data in time to save these men. Their ship's Life Officer didn't survive it seems, so it's going to be a tough one."

"I'm amazed _anyone_ survived," Adama commented, looking over at one man, a leg missing, another one horribly burned yet somehow still stubbornly clinging to life.

"Yes, they are remarkably tough, Commander. The amount of radion, smoke inhalation, burns, and general knocking about they've taken would have killed most Humans, except maybe a Borellian Nomen. They can tolerate considerably more fluid loss than your average Human. Probably comes from living on a desert world."

"Yes, like the Nomen," nodded Adama. "Any idea how soon before we can talk to them?"

"Dr. Wilker's people are still rigging up Languatrons in here, and at least one of the men still isn't properly stabilized. I'll let you know."

"Thank you Doctor."

"Just doing my job, Commander," replied Salik.

"We've tracked her drift," said Tigh, later, on the bridge. "From her course, she was attacked by the Ziklagi ship about here." He pointed to a spot on the board.

"Concentrated scan?" asked Adama.

"Scattered energy and metallic readings, but too far for anything coherent. She…"

_Beep_

"Yes?"

"Chief Twilly here, Commander. We've managed to lock down the bulk of the radion leakage aboard the alien ship, sir. It was a ruptured plasma conduit coupling. How does it read from over there?"

"Radion levels way are down, according to our scanners. Have you found the computer core, yet?  
"Not yet, sir, but we're still picking our way over a lot of wreckage. We found a couple of access terminals, but they were fried. We also did manage to get some air scrubbers working again, so that's a help."

"What's your assessment of the ship's condition, Chief?" asked Tigh.

"Well, there's no denying she's a mess, sir, but so far we've been able to get a few systems going again, and her main reactor core seems intact. I think we could salvage her and get her operational again, Colonel."

"We could always use another ship, sir," said Tigh, to Adama. "Especially a warship, considering."

"I agree." Adama thought a moment. "But time is an unknown factor here. Colonel, send a Viper patrol back along her course. See if there might be more survivors in life pods, or perhaps indications of the attacking Ziklagi vessel or vessels."

"Yes, sir."

"And Twilly, good work. Keep on it, and contact us as soon as you find the main computer core."

"Yes, sir. Out."

"He seems to be doing well over there," said Tigh. "At least there won't be any beautiful alien women on the _Nem'lach _for him to seduce"

"Thankfully," Adama chuckled. "But this is still _sort_ of a punishment detail. Although if he continues to do well…"

"Yes?"

"I might forgive him."

_Beep._

"Commander Adama."

"Commander? Doctor Paye here. One of the survivors is conscious now, and wishes to speak with you."

"On my way, Doctor."

CHAPTER FOUR

The trail back to the battle site was easy to follow. Like an old-fashioned ocean-going vessel vanishing into deep waters, the _Nem'lach _had left a debris field in her wake. Metal plating, piping, a door, a defensive gun, radioactive garbage, a variety of personal belongings, a boot, and of course a number of bodies or parts thereof. After almost a centar and a half, the patrol reached what they deemed to have been site of the battle.

"What do ye think?" asked Croad, scanning. As was usual, he was flying his old pre-Viper fighter from Proteus. Although snickered at by some of the younger pilots, it had been retrofitted, its avionics upgraded and kept functional by the Battlestar's mechanics, and was nearly the match of any Viper. Adama had agreed that no fighter was superfluous, given their situation, and once brought up to speed on current technology, Croad, ignoring the teasing of his younger comrades, was allowed to fly her on patrols.

"I think this is it," said Sheba. "All the debris and radion floating about. And corpses."

"Aye, I see them too, Lieutenant," said the former Enforcer from Proteus. "She musta been one Hades of a fight."

"No question," replied Sheba, banking slightly to evade a large chunk of wreckage. "And from all this junk floating around, the other ship must have take a real clobbering too."

"Aye. I…Lieutenant, two degrees left."

"I see it," said Sheba, and eased on over. Black against the stars was a huge shape and she hit her searchlights. "Lords of Kobol!"

"Aye, she's a biggun'" said Croad, following suit. Together, they flew over the darkened shape, scanning and recording. As the data took shape, it became clear that this ship had taken the worst of the fight. It was ugly, utterly without style or grace, reminding Sheba of a blob of dental cleaner, messily squeezed out, beaten severely and then let congeal. Perhaps this reflected the basic psychology of its builders. It was slightly longer than the Zohrloch ship, or rather had been, for it was rather messily sliced in two, about a third of the way back from the bow, the stern section still tumbling lazily away. The space between was filled with debris and radion.

"She didn't explode, Lieutenant. Looks like those fellas rammed her," said Croad. "I'm pickin' up metal debris from the other ship along the rip, Lieutenant."

"Same here. And I'm also picking up no signs of survivors, either."

"Aye, they seem to have finished the buggers off right enough. She's cold, not much residual heat in there. Except for a few flickers, no power signatures at all."

"Okay, lets scan the whole area as thoroughly as we can. We have to bring back as much information as possible for the Commander, Croad."

"Right ya are, Lieutenant," replied the other, and set to. They scanned everything in sight, then Croad's unit began bleeping. "Lieutenant?"

"Yes?"

"I'm pickin' up somethin'. Very weak. It's a distress signal, comin' from the wreckage."

"You sure?"

"Aye. All the radion must be scramblin' it. Otherwise we'd a seen it sooner." He gave her the wavelon.

"Not to mention it's probably on batteries, and a frequency we don't use. Damn, I should have thought of that."

"Ah, don't be blamin' yerself, Lieutenant. Remember, my old communit was designed back when the Colonies used a different set of freqs. Yers wasn't."

"Still…"

"Ah, ferget it. But we best be closin' down this transmission. In fact…" Croad closed in on the source of the signal, an antenna array clustered on a chunk of undamaged hull. He flipped on his targeting scanner, got a lock, and fired. The whole assembly blew out into molten chunks, silencing the signal forever. "There."

"Good job. I just hope…" She stopped, as the old Enforcer swore. "What?"

"Too late. I'm pickin' up a contact. Extreme range. Closing on these coordinates."

"Gee, you can actually _scan_ with that old relic?" she teased half-heartedly, trying to lighten her mood a bit.

"Sure I can. Of course, it _does _take a certain skill…"

"Oh, you have that, too?" she teased back, but it wasn't working. She looked down at her scope. "I…got it. Extreme range…looks like a ship. And she's approaching pretty fast too."

"Ya think someone's come lookin' fer these folks?"

"I'll bet the next round of Pyramid on it. Plus drinks. Okay, let's get out of here."

"Aye, Lieutenant. If I may, let's not use our turbos till they're off our scanners."

"Oh?"

"They might pick 'em up, and we don't want anyone tracin' us back to the Fleet."

"Good idea," said Sheba, as they turned their ships around, and headed back home. "Where'd you pick that one up?"

"It used to help me hide among the asteroids near Proteus. No turbo blast made it harder for 'em to see me comin' or goin'."

"Not bad. You can tell my next class of trainees about it,"

"Happy to, Lieutenant."

"It's Sheba."

"Aye. Sheba."

Even without turbos, the wreckage faded quickly astern, and after a few centons, the approaching blip did also. Then in a blast of flame, the Warriors were gone.

"This is Third Officer Kassa, of the Imperial Cruiser _Nem'lach,_" said Sargamesh, in Life Center, to Commander Adama. Adama looked down at the injured alien. Stripped of his uniform, wired up with tubes and sensors, and swathed in stained bandages, he looked alot like the other Warriors patched up here after a battle, except for the blue skin.

"Third Officer, I am Commander Adama of the Battlestar _Galactica._" Adama waited a few moments, as the injured man looked him over. It was, Adama decided, a shrewd gaze, the gaze of someone well used to sizing people up.

"How did I come to be here?" asked the other. Or rather, demanded. _Yes_, Adama decided. _Definitely someone used to being obeyed, and without delay_.

"We found your ship, wrecked and adrift in space, and rescued all who remained alive," he told Kassa.

"How many?"

"Only sixteen of your crew survived, including yourself," Adama replied. "How many were aboard your ship initially?"

"We," answered Kassa, after a moment's hesitation, "carried a crew of three-hundred and sixty-six men, and twenty-four officers."

"My God," said Adama, as the loss of life sank in.

"What of my ship?"

"We have taken it in tow, Third Officer," replied Adama. "The damage to it was extreme, but some of our people are aboard her right now, examining it."

"When may I be released from here?" he asked, trying to rise.

"Not for some time," said Doctor Salik, suddenly there. "You have serious radion poisoning, also serious burns, dehydration, and still-knitting fractures in both legs. For the moment, sir, you are going nowhere."

"No," said Kassa, barking it out like it was an order. "I insist! I must be…" _beep _"I must…be…" He slumped back onto the bed, unconscious. Adama looked up at Salik, whose finger was still on the sedative button on the bio-monitor.

"Thank-you, Doctor," said Adama.

"Any time, Commander."

"Commander," said one of the medtechs, holding out a telecom. "The bridge for you, sir."

The scans from the patrol were both illuminating and alarming. Apparently, neither the Ziklagi vessel nor her crew had survived the engagement, which was good. But another one, presumably, was on its way to the site of the battle, which was bad. Unsure of the range of the Ziklagi scanners but unwilling to take a chance, Adama ordered the Fleet to change course. A few degrees to port, hopefully would swing them around the entire area, and they would be missed altogether.

Hopefully.

"She's Ziklagi, no doubt," said Wilker, in the War Room, graphics everywhere. "Her configuration is different from the slave runner we captured, but the scans show that the metal in her hull is virtually identical. And while there were no survivors, scans did pick up traces of biological matter. Analysis shows it was Ziklagi DNA."

"What about the ship's combat capabilities?" asked Captain Apollo. "They seem formidable."

"They are. Although not much bigger than the _Gemini, _she packs nearly half the firepower of a Battlestar or a BaseShip. But, without active energy signatures, we can only speculate at this point as to her exact potentialities."

"Have you reviewed the scanner logs from the _Nem'lach_?" asked Tigh.

"We are still trying to fully decrypt them," replied the scientist. "They seem to be mutli-layered."

"What about the survivors?" asked Adama.

"Third Officer Kassa is still unconscious," reported Salik. "His condition is still critical, Commander, although his recuperative powers seem to be excellent. And our list of survivors is down by one. We lost one a few centons ago."

"I see," said Adama. "And the condition of their ship?"

"Twilly reports that his team has found the main computer core, Commander," replied Wilker. "Attempting to access. And life-support has been restored to about a third of the vessel. Our teams will have an easier time of it surveying the wreck."

"Good work, all of you. Now Doctor, I need to know when Kassa can be revived to help us. We need data on the Ziklagi, and fast."

"I will do my best, Commander. May I return to my patients?"

"By all means."

"Sir," said Wilker, "there may be a shortcut, here."

"Oh?"

As usual, Doctor Wilker's lab was just littered with _stuff. _Parts, circuits, diagnostic devices of all sorts, he never seemed to run out of the things. Once inside, he led Adama, Tigh, and Apollo over to a work bench, where one man was working on a variety of circuitry, his ears covered with headphones. It took a couple of taps on the shoulder to get his attention away from the material before him. He yanked the phones off, which at once blared a hideous cacophony some might call music, and he at once rose to salute the Commander, but Adama motioned him to sit.

"Technician Hummer, sir," said the tech, a young fellow, barely out of his teens it looked, with swarthy skin, and thick curly hair. He spoke with an accent Adama did not recognize.

"Hummer?" asked Adama, not sure he'd heard right.

"Yes, sir," said the other, with a wan smile. "It's short for my full name, sir. A bit easier for most people."

"Which is?" asked the Commander.

"Ah…Humuhumunukunukuapua'a. Sir." The kid smiled apologetically around his chewing gum. "You see why I use a nickname, sir."

"I…Yes, I see," said Adama, wishing now that he'd never asked. "Anyway, what have you gotten, so far?"

"Well here," said Hummer, pointing to a bank of circuit boards, clipped to a diagnostic setup. "This," he turned a switch, "gives us a reading on the system."

"Which?' asked Adama, sensing a technobabble orgy coming on if he wasn't careful.

"Their cloaking system, sir. The Ziklagi ship. I've just about got her pinned down. Volpons, frequency, the works. We may be able to figure out a way to both fully penetrate _and _jam the system. Make them visible."

"That will be helpful,' said Tigh. "Forward what you have to Rigel on the bridge at once."

"Done," said Hummer, punching some keys. "Uh, sir."

"And the rest?"

Okay, over here," said the tech, rolling his chair to another bench, next to one of the again-inert captured Cylons. There also lay piles of seemingly jumbled circuits and electronic what-not. As with the rest, Adama could make scant sense of any of it, but the kid seemed at home among it all. He clipped some leads to another board, flipped a few switches, and a monitor came to life. Data and images began scrolling by almost too fast to see, but Hummer was up to the challenge. He stopped the flow, settling on a single set of data. "This is from the data banks we got from the Ziklagi slaver craft brought back from Boron-Din. It corresponds to our Warbook, Commander. A catalogue of vessels and their specifications. Here." He hit a control, and the image swelled to fill the screen.

"It matches the scan the patrol brought back of the wreck," said Apollo.

"It does indeed," said Hummer. "In fact, it was an entry for the very same vessel. The Imperial Ziklagi Cruiser _Tszi'oosh._ One of their main-line warships, according to this."

"Lords, look at that," said Apollo, peering at the data scrolling up the screen. "Her armament is vicious. It would almost be like taking on ourselves, Commander."

"What about the _Nem'lach _battle logs?" asked Tigh. "Anything yet?"

"No, those are turning out to be a tough nut to crack, Colonel. And I've had my hands full with this stuff. I could use some help."

"What about Sargamesh?" ventured Apollo. "He used to serve on one of their ships. He might be able to help decrypt the logs."

"Hey, great idea!" said Hummer. "Uh, sir."

"So ordered," said Adama. Seeing that all was well in hand, he turned to go. Then he stopped, a question in his mind. "Technician?"

"Commander?"

"Where were you from?"

"Aquaria, sir. The O'hana Islands. A small archipelago in the Great Eastern Sea, near the equator. It's the accent, right?"

"Ah, yes. And…"

"My name. Right. Everybody wonders about it."

"I see. Pretty typical?"

"Oh no, Commander. Most everyone else had long names."

"Ah."

"Yeah. My brother was…"

_Beep_

"Bridge to Commander Adama."

_Saved!_

"Omega?" asked Adama, as soon as he was back.

"Scanner report, sir." He handed Adama a hardcopy. Using both Rigel's and Hummer's adjustments to the scanners, they had detected something. Or rather some_one._

"No mistake?"

"None, sir. We've run the scans constantly. It's at extreme range, but holding its position relative to us."

"So," said Tigh. "We have a shadow."

"Yes, sir."

CHAPTER FIVE

Analysis of the alien ship and wreckage continued at a fevered pace, and yet another of the injured Zohrlochs died during the night. Twilly and his team had at last found and with Sargamesh's help powered up the _Nem'lach_'s mainframe.

The ship herself was a wonder, as Shadrach, Twilly, and a number of Warriors moved through her. Though small in comparison to a Battlestar, it had been packed with firepower. Within two days, Shadrach had restarted the main reactor, almost half the ship functioning on it's own internal power, and bit by bit, her systems were coming back. Adama had decided that, given the unknowns in this new region of space, firepower was a desperately needed commodity, and the new ship would be added to their arsenal.

As would more charts. Once decrypted, the Zohrloch database gave them a new and somewhat disturbing view of the way ahead. On the edges of the galactic arm, the Zohrloch Empire had carved out a succulent slice of stars, an area about equal to that controlled by the Cylons. At over 13,000 light-yahren distant from their current position however, it was not on the Fleet's path, but regions scouted by Zohrloch ships intersected with territory apparently occupied by the Ziklagi race.

"They are, it seems, an empire of warriors," said Tigh, in the Council Chamber. As feared, Sire Antipas had called a meeting, **and to further safeguard his position****Adama had received approval to let Tigh issue a formal report to the members** "A race not too dissimilar to ourselves, but with a culture almost religiously devoted to battle and conquest."

"And the other?" asked Sire Domra. "The ones who captured some of our people before?"

"As you have seen," said Adama, "utterly _in_human. Both in appearance, and in behavior. They traffic in slaves, kidnapping them from any and all sources, as you have read in Lieutenant Jolly's report from Boron-Din, as well as my own. And, we are moving closer to their territory."

"Isn't that rather foolhardy, Adama?" asked Domra. Adama spared a moment's gaze at Antipas. As usual, he was sitting, eyes almost predatory, watching his fellow Councilors.

"We have taken precautions, Sire," answered Adama. "Scanner modifications are proceeding, as is our study of their ship and technology. We are not doing nothing."

"But to knowingly trespass into the territory of a race so bellicose. It begs disaster, Commander."

"We have no other choice, Sire," said Adama, trying to keep the sigh as quiet as possible. "Turning back is impossible, and the known extent of their space is such that going around it would add an enormous amount of time to our voyage."

"How long?" asked Sire Montrose.

"At least a yahren, at our speed, Sire. Possibly more," answered Tigh at Adama's nod, indicating the required route on the plotting board behind Adama's seat. "As you can see, it covers a wide swath of space ahead, but it is not evenly spread out. Going around could add perhaps five hundred or more light-yahrens to our trip, before we could return our current heading."

"And if we encounter the ships of this Ziklagi Empire?" asked Siress Lydia. "Are we going to be able to protect our people from them?" **Adama found himself slightly intrigued that the elegant Siress had injected herself into the discussion. For more than a yahren, Lydia had been the most passively silent member of the Council, but ever since a certain matter of a sectar ago, when she had taken part in a secret hearing that only she, Adama and Antipas knew the details of (as well as the subject of that hearing, a woman known only as "Claudia" to the rest of the Fleet), it seemed as if she had decided to finally take her job as a Council member seriously.**

"We are making every effort to avoid any contact with them, Siress. Our course has been shifted slightly, and we are at present passing through the arm of a thick nebula, which should help obscure their scanners, in the event any of their ships come within range." The Colonel looked at Adama as he spoke the last words. The Commander had decided _not _to tell the Council of the shadow they had picked up.

"We cannot hide in nebulae forever, though," added Domra, brilliantly. "Has any attempt been made to initiate contact with these people, and let then know we mean no harm to them?"

Adama stared at Domra as if the man had lost his mind. Letting the Ziklagi know that they were even in the area was almost as insane as sending a signal back to the Cylons. Or greeting the Eastern Alliance Enforcers with open (and empty) arms. Sometimes Adama wondered if Domra's head was _permanently_…

"That would seem to be counterproductive," said Sire Gellar, "with so large a civilian population. We want at all costs to avoid confronting a race so bent on enslavement and killing."

"I agree," said Sire Anton, nodding at his brother councilor. "Stealth would seem the better course for now."

"The Commander is correct," said Siress Tinia, one of Adama's few allies in the political sphere. "We will deal with these aliens when and if the situation demands it. Until then, we must keep a low profile."

"I presume some plans have been formulated for contact, if and when it occurs?" asked Domra, stiffly.

"We are at yellow alert, Sire. If the Ziklagi wish to talk, I am more than willing to do so. I am even willing to open relations with them, at a diplomatic level, if they wish to treat in good faith. But I have no desire to meet them in a pitched battle, regardless of who has the most firepower."

"Exactly," said Antipas, his voice smooth and reasonable, yet reminding Adama inescapably somehow of a serpent that had bitten him as a small boy. "Our first concern, as Sire Gellar points out, is to preserve the lives of our people. It would seem that our fears for the moment are groundless, Sire Domra."

"I pray you are correct, Antipas," answered the older Sire. "Last time nearly resulted in mass starvation."

"A danger averted due to the Commander's quick thinking, and decisive action," said Tinia. She turned to Colonel Tigh. "Colonel, how long before we actually cross this people's frontier?"

"As near as we can tell, Siress," said Tigh, moving back to the plotting board, "from the incomplete data we have, we shall cross the border of their space in approximately twenty-seven centars and six centons." He pointed to a line across the board. "We are of course continuing to fly Viper patrols."

"Excellent," said Sire Montrose, nodding. "Now, Commander, what is the state of the other aliens? The one's rescued from the wrecked ship?"

"Since being rescued, two have died of their injuries, Sire Montrose. I am waiting for a medical update from Doctor Salik as we speak."

Third Officer Kassa was now sitting up in bed, and looking considerably better. For a man who was blue, anyway. His haughty aire was for the moment damped down, but still evident. He took a long drink of water, then leaned back before responding.

"We were two-hundred and twenty-nine days at maximum hyperdrive factor out from the Imperial frontier, exploring this region of space, when we detected an unknown vessel at the extreme limit of our scanners. We prepared for battle, and moved to investigate."

"You went to battle stations before identifying her?" asked Adama. Once more, Kassa looked at him as if he were retarded, but at last nodded.

"Scan Officer Gudea identified it as Ziklagi vessel, and we hailed it. No sooner had we brought our weapons to full, when they quartered in and opened fire upon us."

"They never replied to hails?"

"No. Not once. They just fired, so we returned fire. We destroyed most of their weapons arrays and their auxiliary thrusters, and they knocked out our forward turret. Then a torpedo blast ruptured our hull, the rest of the guns were off-line, and we lost most of our power. The Captain brought us around as best we could maneuver, and we rammed her. I remember nothing after that."

"Well, you did it," said Apollo. "The other ship was sliced in half, and we detected no survivors in the wreckage."

"Excellent!" said Korl, assisting the Languatrons with the translating. He spoke words too fast for the machine to follow, and Kassa actually smiled.

"What happened afterwards?" asked Kassa.

"Your ship drifted for some days, until we discovered it," replied Adama. "We now have her in tow, with a small engineering crew aboard."

"And my crew?"

"Down to fourteen survivors, I'm afraid," said Salik. "Two of your men were far, far too badly injured even for our medicine to save them. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" asked Kassa, face puzzled. "By all the gods, why should you be sorry, Human?"

"I am a doctor, sir," replied Salik, voice going crisp, but keeping his annoyance under control. "It is both my calling and my duty to treat the injured, and heal the sick."

"And you fight that war with the weapons of your calling, yes. But no one is invincible. If one is defeated, then it is part of war's fortunes. Azgul's teeth, one should never be 'sorry' at the fortunes of war. Is a disease or an injury 'sorry' when _you _are victorious?" Salik shook his head, and looked away.

"It would appear we have very different ways of looking at things, Third Officer Kassa," said Adama, also annoyed at the rudeness of the man.

"Yes, it does, Commander." He slowly rose up, and got to his feet, contemptuously batting away Cassie's proffered hand. "Might I see my men?"

"Of course. This way," said Cassie, ever the professional, teeth gritted, and led him to the autopsy room. There, the three dead Zohrlochs were laid out. Their senior officer stood over them a few moments, lost in his alien thoughts, then he reached down to his belt. He wore only a patient's gown, his savaged uniform gone. He scowled, looked up at Adama, then turned to Korl.

"Have you a knife?" he asked. "His is gone."

"All weapons were removed when you were brought in here," said Salik.

"Please give me one."

"Might I ask why?" replied Salik.

"Commander Adama, I do not wish to seem ingracious, but could you please instruct your minion not to question everything that I say? I require a knife. A scalpel, any sharp instrument."

"Very well," said Adama, and Salik handed the man a short blade. He took it, sparing Salik an annoyed glance, and asked for the light to be turned up. It was done, and he looked at Korl, and the two joined hands over the corpse of one of the dead men. Throwing back their heads, they began to scream, almost like an animal shriek. Not once, but four times, once in each direction. That done, first Kassa, then Korl, took the proffered blade and cut their faces, making long thin wounds below each eye. The azure blood ran down their cheeks and onto the bodies, as the two chanted a slow, sonorous dirge. They did the same for the other men.

Then, it was done, and they headed back for the main area. With his physician's eye, Salik noted how quickly the wounds had stopped bleeding.

"What the Hades Hole was that?" asked Apollo, looking at his father.

"A farewell to the dead," said Korl, the blood still staining his cheeks. "The shouts are to let the Guardians of the Four Winds know that the spirit of a warrior now walks the other world. And the demons to beware."

"And, the…" Cassie drew her fingers down her face, her expression questioning. Apparently Korl was not quite so dismissive of her as the other.

"It is how we mourn. The blood is to nourish the spirit for it's journey, and it is not seemly for a warrior to weep with the tears of women." He moved to follow Kassa, but stopped, and with the faintest hint of a smile, told her: "Perhaps it is fortunate we are not in ancient times. Then, one also danced naked around the departed's bier, as they sang the dirge." Then he left them.

"These guys are just too fracking weird!" muttered Apollo. Adama scowled at him. Cassie looked at him, then Salik, but said nothing.

The newcomers, and their battle with the Ziklagi slavers, were by now the talk of the Fleet. Even aboard the _Rising Star_, where Apollo had managed to wangle a dinner date with Sheba in the Astral Lounge, it seemed to be the main topic of conversation._After first discussing matters related to their sealing plans, as well as informal talk about Boxey and his schoolwork, the subject of the newcomers finally came up in their conversation._

"So, what do you think, Apollo?" she asked him, as he sipped his mineral water. "This new potential enemy."

"I'm hoping we can just get through this region of space, and avoid any serious conflict. We've lost so many people as it is since fleeing the Colonies. The Cylons are enemy enough."

"They seem _worse_ than the Cylons," she replied. "And so utterly… _alien_ on top of that."

"Yes. I keep praying we haven't exchanged one set of merciless enemies for another set of merciless enemies. And these Zohrlochs. My God."

"Bad?"

"Could be." He told her of Kassa's words and actions in Life Station. Sheba just shook her head. She'd chosen the Warrior's path in life partly out of an ingrained sense of duty, seeing her people had no choice with a seemingly infinite foe arrayed against them, but mostly because of the fascinated awe she'd felt growing up the last surviving child of a great military family, and listening to her father, Commander Cain, tell the stories of his exploits. It had inspired her with a desire to follow his footsteps and be the best at the toughest job that could be asked of anyone in Colonial society. But in spite of that, her admiration for her father and her decision to become a Warrior, had never amounted to a _love_ of war and combat in her mind. Indeed, there were many moments in her life when the sheer weariness of her duties, and disgust at all the seemingly endless death, could weigh her down and make her wish she'd never laid eyes on a weapon, and could just crawl into a fantasy world of peace and harmony, and be like the women of ancient times that she remembered from the bedtime stories her mother had read to her when she was little. Even her father, despite his instinctive ability to thrive in a combat situation like nowhere else, was capable of feeling that heavy burden at times. She had seen him so broken and destroyed by guilt after the horrible death of her mother, Bethany, and the many yahrens of not being there for her. Even the great Commander Cain, whom some people had at times accused of loving war with an almost orgiastic obsession, to the point of needing the war the way people needed food, or an addict needed drugs, had his limits.

_Maybe knowing those limits is the real key to our humanity._. _Knowing how to do the tough jobs when you have to, but keeping that one space of your heart open to wishing you never had to do it again. Lose it, and you become as cold and unfeeling as a programmed Cylon._

The parallels with these Zohrlochs were just a bit too close for her comfort.

_Aren't there any peaceful people in the universe?_ she wondered. _Anywhere?_

"Well, at least there's one thing we can be thankful for, here," she said at last.

"Yes?"

"Count Iblis isn't behind this." She'd dropped her voice to almost sepulchral levels. "I'm sure of that."

"How?"

"These are creatures of flesh and blood, albeit _odd_ flesh and blood. If it were…" she looked around, and leaned closer, "if it _were_ Iblis, he'd somehow be trying to beguile us. He'd turn up in person, offering something, in exchange for his protection, or his rule, or gift, so-called."

"With that malignant smile of his. Yes, you've got a point. This doesn't smell like Iblis' work." Apollo took another sip. "For which I'm glad. I don't want him popping up, this close to our sealing. In fact, I don't _ever_ want him popping up again. Period."

"Same here. I still have bad dreams about…that ship, Apollo. All those…those _things _we saw." She shuddered as grotesque images from the haunted derelict she and Apollo had encountered flitted through her memory. **Images of twisted, hideous beings, hellish _things, _many of whom had once been the all-too Human crew of the lost Battlestar **_Callisto_. "Eerily real ones."

"You too?" She nodded. "Well, I'm certainly glad to see that I'm not alone." He polished off his water, and felt her hand on his. He lowered his glass, and looked at her.

"You're never alone, Apollo," she said, eyes brimming with sweetness and promise. "Not ever."

CHAPTER SIX

Despite discreet sweeps of both the bridge and his quarters, Boomer found no more bugging devices. While Adama was pleased at these results, he was also furious that someone would dare to bug the Fleet Commander on his own bridge. The more he turned it over in his mind, the more and more it felt like Antipas' work. Who else after all, but a political foe, would have a reason to monitor the Commander? The man had _serious _ambitions, that much was clear. If only they were clearer to Adama. If only he had solid _proof_ of his suspicions.

Suspicions Boomer could do nothing as yet to alleviate. The Viper pilot had gone over the bugging device as thoroughly as he could. It had been taken from a portable comm unit lifted from ship's stores he had discovered; that much the serial number on the circuit board made clear. It had also been modified, altered both in range and in frequency.

"Gamma?" asked Adama, meeting him in the old Celestial Dome, far away from prying eyes and ears. _And also a place that the Commander noticed had fallen into considerable neglect over the last few sectars, the result of his order to kill normal air-flow to the area after Sheba had once chosen to go AWOL from the Life Station by retreating to this place. In a way though, that decision to emphasize its lack of use (and save on air scrubbers), was paying a dividend now by offering he and Boomer the perfect place to meet._

"Yes, sir. A long-obsolete channel, and one we normally never monitor of course. Someone wanted to be certain the signal would never be picked up by our commsuite, Commander, or our internal sensors."

"What kind of range?"

"Hard to say with these modifications, but I'm thinking not much beyond, oh…halfway to the Fleet_'_s perimeter. If that. Any more power running through it and the finals might fry."

"So, our eavesdropper can't be very far away then." The Commander was silent for a few moments, considering all this. "Any clues as to who might have done this?" He pointed at the small circuit.

"Almost anyone with a basic knowledge of communications circuits might be able to do it. Any primary School graduate, really. And normally one uses needle nose pliers and a magnifier for the delicate work. But…" he held up a hand as Adama was about to speak, "I did find two fingerprint fragments on the board."

"And?"

"One belonged to a certain Technician Breyer."

"And?"

"According to records, he worked at the factory that manufactured the communits. He retired six yahrens ago, and didn't make it when the Colonies were destroyed. The other I haven't identified yet, sir."

"Not in the computer?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to need to use the computer quite a bit, and I have to be very careful. I need to do some fiddling, and if the owner of the other print _is _aboard the Fleet, I don't want any flags going up and warning them they've been identified before we can move in, sir."

"Boomer, have you ever considered running for the Council?"

"I'll stick to being shot at by Cylons, Commander," chuckled Boomer. "My father was a city councilman when I was a kid. I saw all the politics I ever want to."

"I can imagine. All right, get back to work. I'll be on the bridge. You can use the computer access in my quarters. I'll leave it keyed open for you. You should have all the privacy you need to get the job done."

"Yes, sir. I don't suspect him of anything, but Corporal Lomas tends to get a bit chatty, or to hover at times."

"Understood." He rose, and headed towards the hatch.

"Uh, Commander?"

"Yes?"

"I didn't know you'd ever been up here before."

"Not since my first secton aboard, Boomer."

"Ah. I though Apollo had it locked. Keyed to his thumbprint."

"I'm the Commander," smiled Adama, and Boomer laughed softly.

Colonel Tigh watched one of the monitors as the latest recon patrol landed. He checked the roster; Ensign Cree was returning, having found nothing, with his student, Cadet Paris. Tigh smiled a bit, recalling the time _Cadet_ Cree, late of the late Battlestar _Columbia,_ had crashed on Arcta, forced down by a Cylon patrol, triggering some rather unorthodox behavior on the part of his instructor, Starbuck. Now an instructor and decorated Warrior himself, Cree was more than justifying Starbuck's faith in him.

"Patrol now aboard, Commander," he told Adama, turning to look at the Commander.

"Excellent, Colonel. Inform the pilots debriefing will commence immediately."

"Sir." Tigh turned back to the instruments. "Commander, we will cross the Ziklagi frontier in one centon. Mark."

"Defensive stations?"

"All stations report ready, sir."

"Omega?"

"All channels open, Commander. Languatron engaged."

"Athena?"

"Except for our shadow, scanners are clear, Commander. Nebular interference is limiting our systems, but so far no detectable ships within range."

"Good. Let's hope it stays that way."

Adama watched the scanner, as the frontier edged ever closer. Nebular material was interacting with the field around the alien vessel, creating a tenuous, but very real trail. A visible trail. This allowed Rigel to further refine the scanners as the two traveled together. Then, the _Galactica_ crossed it, the other ships of the Fleet following her into this new and potentially hostile territory. He watched, unaware that he was holding his breath, until the very last ship had crossed the line.

They were here.

"Status of pursuit vessel?" he asked.

"Holding at twenty-eight thousand, off our starboard quarter, Commander," replied Athena. "Still matching us for course and speed."

"Alright, notify me of any change. I'll be with the pi…" Barely had he begun, when the scanners beeped. "What?"

"She's changed course, Commander," said Athena. "Now closing on the _Galactica_!"

Adama watched the scanners, as the alien ship moved out of her previous vector, to draw closer to the Battlestar. He signaled Red Alert, and was about to order batteries to open fire, when the Ziklagi ship slowed, settling into a new position.

Directly "above" them, barely a thousand metrons away. Adama studied the tactical plot, and swore softly. From that position, they had a clear shot at many vital areas.

"No indication of fluctuations in her energy signatures, sir," reported Rigel. "She doesn't seem about to attack Commander."

"But preparing, if the order comes," said Tigh, next to his CO.

"Sir!" It was Rigel again. "Another contact."

"Identity?"

"At extreme range, and apparently cloaked as well, sir, from the Dopplon drift rate. But it appears to match the first ship, Commander."

"Moving in for the kill," said Tigh. "I'll wager they intend to englobe us, then attack, sir."

"No wagers here, Colonel. I concur completely. Rigel."

"Commander?"

"ETA on the second vessel?"

"At our relative speeds, it will intersect the Fleet in…four point oh one centars, Commander."

"Thank you."

Following his debriefing of the pilots, Adama paid yet another visit to Wilker's lab. Technician "Hummer" was still there, looking bleary-eyed, but still hard at work. He had notes piled high around him, and about a dozen or so empty java cups, as he continued his tests and examinations of the salvaged alien circuits. As before, Adama had to thump him on the shoulder, to get him to remove his headphones.

"Well, in theory, yes," said Hummer, rolling his chair across the room to grab a datapad off another bench. He rolled back and activated it. "It should be possible to adapt these to our systems, sir. But I'll some need serious time."

"How much?"

"Uhh…sectons, Commander. I mean, Doctor Wilker and I can probably duplicate this system, but then we have to design and rig a phase-mode converter, to handle the match up of the different frequencies and current levels, then run sims galore before we even attempt to tie it in to our own deflection systems."

"No other way?"

"No sir," said Hummer, shaking his head emphatically. "To screen the _Galactica _effectively against their scanners would take huge amounts of power. Assuming the bench tests and everything else work out, the deflection grid's main emitter diodes are the only ones in the whole Fleet that could reasonably handle that much power running through them. And one thing this system eats, sir, is power. Loads of it." He showed the Commander a pile of computations. Adama explained the current tactical situation to the tech, and he nodded. He took the datapad, punched in some more numbers, and plugged it into one terminal. Soon, weird colored graphics were scrolling up the screen. "Alright, sir. First sim in progress."

"Good. Keep me posted, please."

"I will, sir." He turned back to his work, then swirled around again. "Sir, could you arrange to have real-time scanner data fed down to me here? It could help speed things along."

"I shall, Technician."

"Thanks, Commander."

"And you do not attack?" asked Kassa, that midday centar in Adama's quarters. He had invited the sufficiently recovered Zohrloch officers to share a meal with him.

"Not yet. I do not wish to ignite hostilities if I do not have to," replied Adama. "I am responsible for the lives of thousands of civilians crammed aboard old and in some cases barely serviceable transports. Not warships. I do not jest when I tell you some of them were literally rescued from scrapyards. If I can get across this space without fighting, I will do so. Besides, the fact that we have managed to partially penetrate their cloaking screen is a tactical advantage I do not wish to reveal unless I absolutely must."

"I see," said the Zohrloch officer, if a bit…sadly. "Would that it were different. Still, the warrior must have the wisdom to know _when _to attack, and when to forebare." He took another bite of the meal, a Pisceran squab in a highly spiced butter and wine sauce. Fortunately, these aliens did not require some bizarre and shudder-inducing food. Doctor Paye had determined that, except for some elevated copper and sulpher requirements, they could get by on Human nutrients and primaries quite adequately.

Of course, _cooked _food…

"My compliments," said Kassa. "I have not tasted genuinely unreprocessed food since before leaving Eridu."

"Our Agro ships, as well as livestock carriers, have striven to preserve as wide as possible variety of the food species we knew back home. We still missed bringing many things when we fled the Colonies."

"Yes, your war with these Cylons. Dishonorable creatures."

"How was this war lost?" asked Ubar-Zim kor Scordge, a young petty officer from the wrecked ship. "Mere machines? Robots?"

"Cylons, being machines, can be built in limitless quantities, Petty Officer Ubar-Zim. We cannot. That was our downfall." Adama decided, at least for now, to forego any mention of the treason of Baltar.

"I see. Well, you seem to have done well, bringing your people this far in order to survive."

"They are a remarkable people in many ways," supplied Korl.

"Now," said Adama, "if I may. What more can you tell me of these Ziklagi slavers?"

"How did you meet them?" asked Kassa. Adama told him of the encounter with the slavers near the planet Boron-Din, after the near-total loss of the _Agro Ship One_'s power systems, and forced diversion to the nearest sun in a desperate attempt to save the Fleet from starvation. Kassa was silent, taking it all in.

"They will be seeking you now," said Kassa. "They will not forget such an affront."

"We have no desire for any conflict with them," said Adama. "We have enough enemies already."

"They will not see it that way, Commander," said Sargamesh, silent until now. "You exist, therefore you are an enemy."

"That is insane," said Apollo, next to his father. "We have no designs on their territory or property."

"Agreed," said Sargamesh. "But to them, the universe consists of Ziklag, and everywhere else. And everywhere else exists only to come under the heel of Ziklag."

"Sounds like the Cylons all over again," said Apollo.

"There do seem to be similarities, yes," said Kassa. "But the Ziklagi need living slaves, to do the work they are too lazy themselves to do."

"How did you first come into conflict with them?" asked Adama.

"It was several of our…uh, what you call _yahren_ ago," said Kassa. "But Sargamesh knows more." He looked at the other Zohrloch, and Adama noted it was not the most amicable of gazes.

"We lost contact with our colony on Edzhip Four, the most distant world in our space," said Sargamesh. "Due to other concerns, as well as distance, it was nearly a full yahren before a ship arrived to investigate. They found the colony to have been obliterated, and hundreds of colonists slaughtered. Many were missing. A few survivors in hiding told what had happened. An unidentified vessel had quartered in, and without warning opened fire on the main settlement, killing nearly a thousand people in an eyeblink. Our people fought back, but they had the advantage of surprise. Most of the survivors were herded aboard shuttles, and taken away. From the bodies of the attackers who were killed in the ground action, and one survivor left behind that was captured, it was learned that it was a species unknown to us which was responsible." Sargamesh stopped, and took another sip of wine. He found he was enjoying this Virgonian vintage very much. It had come from a cousin of Adama's, a vintner, who had sent him a couple of cases for a natal day present the yahren before the Holocaust.

"What actions were taken?" asked Apollo, ever the military mind. From the other's tone and smile, he did not imagine that the captured Ziklagi's interrogation had been at all pleasant.

"All available data was gathered, including the scanner logs from the Colony, tactical analyses were made, and a specially equipped scout vessel was launched, to seek out the invaders. This was the ship Korl and myself were on, when we at last encountered the enemy, after almost a yahren of travel in this direction at high speed, several of our centars ago. We transmitted everything we could possibly learn, before we were attacked."

"And lost most of your crew," said Kassa, softly. Adama decided it was the sort of softness best associated with a blunt knife. These two had a history, he was sure. Sargamesh looked back, but said nothing.

_Yes, a history. They hate each other._

"We were attacked by a large ship," said Korl, as if to smooth over whatever feathers had been ruffled. "A medium cruiser at the very least, and we inflicted heavy damage to her. Despite all this, they had the victory, as you have heard." He looked as if the very words tasted bad. Given his culture, Adama decided, they probably did. "We alone survived, and ended up on Boron-Din, until your people rescued us, Commander."

"Our pleasure to release others from slavery," said Adama, trying to sound as soothing as he could. "Was there anything else you learned before you were attacked?"

"We made extensive scans of this region," said Sargamesh, "which we transmitted in realtime back home. But our scanner logs were either lost with our ship, or taken by the enemy."

"They were received," said Kassa, voice as pleasant and as supple as a corpse. "There is a base, essentially an enormous space station, approximately nine days travel from where we were attacked. We were headed for it when we were intercepted."

"As near as we could determine," said Korl, "it serves both as a military outpost, and a processing center for their commercial and slave traffic in this sector. We got close enough to make some basic sensor sweeps, but that was all. We were detected, and…"

"I see," said Adama. "Well, my engineers have informed me that there are still sections of your ship's computer that remain encrypted. It requires codes that we do not have."

"I shall be more than glad to supply my personal codes, Commander," said Kassa. "However, the Captain's codes died with him. I cannot access those levels of security."

"Well, we'll just have to keep trying, then," said Adama.

CHAPTER SEVEN

No sooner had Adama returned to the bridge, then Twilly called from the battered _Nem'lach. _With Kassa's help, and some mathematical extrapolation, he reported success in at last penetrating the security codes protecting the ship's computer data. Everything was now open for their scrutiny. Adama ordered it at once downloaded to translation and analysis, then rechecked the scanners.

Their remora was still there, exactly matching them for course and speed, maintaining the same distance. The second ship was still approaching, and would reach IP with them in just under one centar.

"Status of the nebula?" he asked Tigh.

"Beginning to thin, sir. Scan indicates we should clear the nebula in approximately one and a half centars, present speed."

"Just after the next ship arrives. They certainly have it timed well," said the Commander. "No nebular interference to get in the way of their targeting."

"Clever. What do you want to do?"

Adama did not at once answer, silently weighing his options. Changing course was no good. They could not outrun the enemy, with the Fleet to think of. Speed up? Hardly. The Ziklagi ships seemed as fast as any Colonial vessel, and once of them more arrived…

"Slow the Fleet, Colonel."

"Sir?"

"Slow the Fleet. Bring all ships to dead slow. We need time, and I intend to try and buy us some."

"Yes, sir," said Tigh, beginning dimly to see his CO's dust at last. He turned to Omega, and relayed the order. "I'd give a lot to know what _their _commander is thinking right now, sir."

"That's both of us, Tigh. Both of us."

That particular individual was at that very moment watching his prey on his ship's main screen. Ever since learning about these strange newcomers, Command had been screaming for information. Well, now, despite the blasted obscuring nebula playing havoc with his sensors, they at last had something, and it was not comforting.

This ship, whatever it was called and from wherever it hailed, was unlike anything Over-Colonel Xonarr had ever seen. Plotting back along its course, he had learned that it came from a region of space completely unknown to his people. Far, far larger than any ship ever built by any race known to the Empire, it quite frankly frightened him. Obviously a ship of war, it outgunned his own vessel by more than two to one, at least in terms of gunnery. It seemed to be armed with some sort of laser weaponry, rather than his own standard plasma cannon, but of a power level that seemed to match anything he had. That, and the fact that it carried several squadrons of single-_kfsh_ fighter craft, _and _thatits maneuverability was unknown, made it an open question as to who would emerge alive from battle. It was firepower personified, and from what little data they had so far, her commander had no qualms about using that firepower.

When the _Nooshgah_ arrived, however, the balance might begin to tip, if and when the order came to engage this monster. In the meantime, he would continue to track her, cloaked, gaining such information as he could about these intruders. As his thoughts wandered, so did his gaze, to those vessels in the warship's wake. As near as they could tell, they were for the most part unarmed craft. Transports, barges, cargo vessels, crammed to the bulkheads with passengers. A few of them sported what looked to be makeshift weapon's emplacements, mounted wherever a spot presented itself, but they were manifestly _not_ warships. Their hulls were thin by comparison, pitted with many weapons hits, and few of them seemed to have much in the way of defensive shielding, or the power to support it. All but a few looked to be old. What in the Pit were they doing here?

_Refugees? _he wondered. A massive warship, followed by over 200 smaller, nakedly vulnerable rustbuckets? As he turned this over in his mind, this explanation began to make more and more sense to him. Survivors, from some far away alien war, fleeing across the cosmos, seeking refuge. Perfect.

Yes, perfect. With this many targets, the prize money would be almost beyond counting. Captured alien craft, captured slaves…Xegex's left foot, it fairly made one's head spin to contemplate! Money equaled power, and once both the prestige _and _the cold hard cash was his, he could begin to play his own tune in certain circles. Certain people, certain _interests, _would have no choice but to at last sit up and take notice of Xonarr. The Chancellor, Pit, even the Triumvirate would…

"My Lord," said an underling, and Xonarr turned. He narrowed his eye.

"Speak."

"Intruder fleet is slowing, sir."

"Slowing?" replied Xonarr slowly, unsure he had heard correctly.

"Yes, My Lord. Velocity curve down two points, and growing. Dropping below point five of light."

"Is something wrong? Is he damaged in some fashion?" asked Xonarr, moving out of his seat to look at the instruments. He studied the scanner graphics, clenching and unclenching his middle hand.

"No indications of damage or any such, My Lord. The alien ships have just slowed. Speed down by almost ninety percent."

"Helm!" he shouted, turning. "Are we continuing to match them?"

"We have compensated for their drop in speed, Lord."

"Good." Xonarr leaned close, studying the scanners again, then looked at the image of the massive vessel on his screen. "What is he up to?" he whispered. "What in the Pit is he doing?"

"Unknown, My Lord," replied the other.

"I was not asking you," snapped Xonarr. "Steady as she goes, helm. Continue scanning. Communications!"

"My Lord?"

"Contact Command. Immediately!"

"My Lord."

"What?"

"Receiving a signal, My Lord," said the communications officer. "From the intruder Fleet."

"What sort of signal? Is he hailing us? What of our cloak?"

"Cloaking system still functioning, My Lord. All indicators within tolerances. No, My Lord. It is a faint, simple radio energy pulse." The officer put it on the main speakers. True, it was a slow, fairly weak pulse, repeating regularly, and on a Ziklagi frequency.

"Can you locate the exact source?" demanded Xonarr.

"Attempting, My Lord. But the nebular interference is playing havoc with the equipment."

"Continue trying. When the _Nooshgah _arrives, coordinate with them if needs be."

"My Lord."

"And get me Command!"

"Commander," said Athena suddenly. "Picking up a transmission from the intruder vessel."

"Are they hailing us?"

"No sir. It is primarily directed out of the nebula, towards unknown space. Part of the signal is reflecting back off the ionized gases. That's why we're getting any of it." She hit a few controls, running the transmission through the main computer. "It's encrypted, Commander. Attempting to decrypt."

"Commander!" cried Rigel, from down in "The Pit". Adama left Athena's post, and moved towards the other woman. She indicated the screen in front of her. "Another signal, sir."

"Another signal? What sort?"

"It's in the Gamma band,' she pointed to her screen, where the signal was being broken down and analyzed by the equipment. "A long-discarded channel. And very close, too."

"How close?"

"Within the confines of the Fleet, Commander." She turned up the volume on her machinery. It was a steady, hissing pulse, repeating exactly every 2.667 millicentons.

"Could it be coming from the Ziklagi vessel?" Adama asked her, the fearful conclusion coming to him. She twiddled the equipment a bit more.

"No. I'm triangulating with the _Celestra _and the _Century_ right now." Another pause. "No, the signal is originating from a it's originating from one of our own ships!"

"Which one?"

"Hard to say, sir." Rigel put a graphic up, showing each ship in the Fleet in formation. "It's definitely in this area, sir," she said, indicating an area from the Prison Barge, to the _Gemini, _the _Hegal, _and the _Rising Star._ In all, over a dozen ships. "The nebula is interfering with our scans, sir. The signal is not of a consistent strength."

"I see. Rigel, call Lieutenant Boomer to my quarters at once. And keep on this. Anything new, relay it to my quarters."

"Yes, sir. Sir, you realize what this signal is of course."

"Yes I do. It's a homing beacon. See if you can find a way to block it. Without being obvious."

"Yes, sir."

Adama moved to Tigh, and filled him in. Tigh was furious.

"Someone might just as well have painted a target on our hull."

"Yes. And I think I know who, Colonel."

Chief Twilly watched his people with pride, as they went about their work on the Zohrloch vessel. In just a few days, they had restored more than 30 of the ship's damaged systems to operational status, sealed almost all the breaches in her hull, and made most of the ship habitable again. True, it would take a space dock, a full crew, and probably a full yahren to return the ship to her original condition, but even so they hadn't done badly.

That, and they were learning a_ lot _from an engineering standpoint. Alien technologies, new and intriguing metal alloys, star charts of huge swaths of the galaxy never mapped save by ground-based telescopes long ago. It was all enough to make his head spin, and even to forget, for a few centars, which woman it was he was going to dally with next.

"Excellent," he said, as the men with torches finished cutting away the last bit of the _Nem'lach_'s crumpled bow section. His people had sealed all the bulkheads forward, and now the useless bow was sliced away, to be sent to the foundry ship for recycling.

"Your people are most skilled," said Kassa, watching the operation from the control room. The Zohrloch vessel, in order to be towed in a situation like the Fleet's was not on the end of a tether, or held by some electronic beams. She had been tugged and nudged _under _the Battlestar, inboard of the port landing/launch bay. Once a cowling had been rigged, the ship was held fast with cables and latches, firmly attached to the Battlestar's underside, and then mated to an airlock. This configuration was something the huge warships had been designed for, to take in and effect repairs on their smaller sisters too battle damaged to make it home on their own. Since fleeing the Colonies, it had only been used once, to facilitate the scrapping of the wrecked _Spica_. Now, those sections were busy again, cocooning the _Nem'lach _until she was fit to fly on her own once more.

"We've had to keep those skills honed, just to keep the Fleet together," replied Twilly. "What with old dilapidated ships, Cylon attacks, and every kind of emergency repair you can think of, we can't afford to let our skills slide."

"And you have succeeded. Like the warrior who must always practice. I must say, you also seem remarkably well supplied with resources for a refugee fleet, Engineer."

"A few sectons back, we encountered a solar system incredibly rich in many of the vital minerals we needed. We took the time to gather everything we could, including a couple of derelict ships to replace ones we've lost."

"Fortuitous," said Kassa, watching a shuttle begin to tow the severed bow section away towards the foundry ship.

"What was this system?" asked Sargamesh.

"Some place called…uh, Ki. It had been advanced once, but had relapsed into primitive times. Still, it gave us the fuel and materials we needed to keep the Fleet going. We have to resupply as best we can. Lords willing, it will be a long time before we run thin again."

"Lords?" asked Kassa. "Who are these 'Lords' I often hear spoken of? I thought your governmental system was an elective one."

"Yes it is, now. 'Lords' refer to our very ancient rulers, whom we call The Lords of Kobol. Kobol was the planet our ancestors originally came from, long before the worlds we call the Colonies were settled, or we ever encountered the Cylons." Twilly gave them a short lesson in Colonial history, and the Zohrlochs nodded.

"And this Earth you seek?" asked Korl.

"Our traditions tell us that some refugees from Kobol went there as well, although how this was known, or why a place so far was chosen has been lost to time. But we have found clues, since fleeing home, that we _are_ on the right path. We will find Earth, one day. Commander Adama will get us there."

"You have great…conviction in these Lords, Engineer," said Kassa. "And your Commander."

"They continue to watch over us, guiding us at times when needed. And they guide him as well. There is no way we could have come this far otherwise."

"Moving into new and dangerous territory, you will surely need guidance," observed Sargamesh.

"Yes, we've lost too many people as it is," replied Twilly. "Far too many."

"Lost," said Kassa, softly. Almost too softly to be heard. "Yes, lost." He looked at Sargamesh, then turned away. Twilly watched him go, then looked at Sargamesh.

"What is his problem?" he asked.

"Problem? No problem, Engineer. It is merely that when this crisis is past, Azgul spare us both, he intends to kill me." And so said, he left as well, leaving Twilly with his mouth hanging open.

CHAPTER EIGHT

While Adama sweated and swore over the new revelations, and Tigh watched over the bridge in his friend's absence, most of the pilots on furlon were gathered in the Battlestar's triad court. Here, tonight, was the premiere of the new "women's league", as opposed to the men's teams, the brainchild of Sheba, in response to a smartastrum remark by Starbuck. Sheba and Dietra were blue team, with Athena, who'd reached end of watch on the bridge and barely made it to the locker room in time, and Brie for red. Like their male counterparts, the ladies played hard, and took no prisoners. By the end of round one, it was even, two points to each team. Sheba felt as if she'd crashed (and rolled) her Viper, twice, and one of the reds looked like a refugee from Life Station, but they would brook no retreat.

"This is your major sport?" asked Kassa, sitting next to Starbuck. Kassa had just come from Life Station, where he had checked on the condition of his remaining crewmen. All but two were now solidly on the road to recovery, with the life of only one still in doubt. The boarding party had located some of his ship's undamaged medical stores, and the men were responding. He had treated his pilot hosts to some of his people's entertainment, a video drama, make that bloodfest, called _Korl's Capture Of The Bloodstone, _recounting an ancient war during his world's Heroic Age, wherein the semi-divine Warlord Korl, son of the god Azgul and a mortal woman and the one for whom it seemed the present Korl was named, had defeated his many rivals for power, and seized a religious talisman, a huge deep-blue gemstone, of awesome mystical powers. The flick was replete with blood, action, blood, graphic battle scenes, blood, wenching, blood, feuding gods and demons, blood, and, of course, blood. Even Starbuck was privately shocked at the degree of violence portrayed, and was more so when informed both that such was standard fare for children to watch, and sometimes condemned criminals were used, in place of any sort of "special effects". In light of this, he decided to take a rain check on the next drama, somewhat fearsomely titled _Sargamesh The Impaler._

"One of the few left to us," replied Starbuck, as Athena snatched the ball from Dietra, and made a feint for the target. "Many of our others were played in open air, or in gigantic stadia. Cooped up like this, we make do as best we can."

"True. Such confinement would make proper athletics a matter of some difficulty, Lieutenant."

"Starbuck, please. Just call me Starbuck." Kassa nodded. "What sort of sports do they play on your planet?"

"Well, there is the _pesh'kha, _a form of…group wrestling is the best way to describe it. Perhaps if there is an opportunity, I can show you some of our visual records."

"I'd like that," said Starbuck, politely, recalling the previous video, and lighting up a fumerello. He offered one to Kassa, but the Zohrloch shook his head. Sargamesh, however, on his left, readily accepted. "What else?"

"_Bekka, _something like your Triad here, although there is only one hoop, and the players do not use their hands. They must use hips and shoulders only, to put the ball through the single hoop, and achieve victory. And, of course, the Games."

"Games?" asked Starbuck.

"Yes. Gladiators set to fight in a variety of ways."

"Ah. I've…heard of things like that," replied Starbuck, watching Jolly squirm slightly. The memories from Boron-Din were still pretty raw for Jolly, and Starbuck tried to move the conversation into other areas. He looked at Sargamesh, happily puffing away. "You like that?" he asked him of the fumerello.

"Indeed," replied the other. Over his shoulder, Starbuck caught Jolly mouth _thank you. _"It is much like the sort we have at home." He took a long deep drag that impressed even Starbuck. "You grow it in your Fleet?"

"I had a few boxes that I bought during my last furlon before the Holocaust," replied Starbuck. "I only smoke 'em on special occasions now."

"And this is special?" asked Kassa.

"Yes. New friends." He nodded to both Zohrlochs. "Surely a special occasion." A roar went up from the crowd, and he spared a glance at Apollo, who'd half-risen, as Athena scored.

"_GO SIS!" _boomed the Captain, and Starbuck laughed. Kassa looked from Apollo, down to the arena and the sweating ladies. His expression was neutral, but Starbuck sensed that something was bothering him.

"What sort of sports do women do on your planet?" he asked.

"None, Lieutenant," replied Kassa. "On Eridu, women keep to their place. Such displays as this are not permitted."

"Oh, I see. I guess that's one of the differences between our cultures. We don't impose such restrictions."

"Of course. Forgive me if I seem…somewhat parochial. This is merely a new experience for me. A somewhat jarring one I will confess."

"I can imagine," replied Starbuck, unsure of what to say next. He was wondering if inviting them to watch the women's triad with his fellow pilots might not have been something of a misstep.

"I take it women on your planet lead much narrower lives," asked Apollo of Kassa, finally tearing his eyes away from Sheba's sweaty, _oh-so-supple_ form for a moment.

"Yes," replied the other. "Wives, daughters, they are not permitted this sort of…latitude, save for the Sacred Prostitutes. In fact, the…permissiveness of your society surprises me, Captain Apollo. For a people so geared towards war, the liberality with which your women comport themselves seems counterproductive to achieving victory." He looked at the Captain, clearly expecting an answer of some sort.

"Well," said Apollo, trying to come up with an answer both informative and diplomatic, "once, in our past, it was different. Women, by and large, led more restricted lives. Our people had survived a long voyage across space from our dying mother-world, life on the new Colonial worlds was not always easy, and famines, wild animals, and pestilence were a constant danger. Most of our previous technology was…lost, and protecting those who were the vessels of new life was deemed imperative, if our species was to survive in hostile new environments, so different from what we once knew on Kobol."

"Sensible," said Korl, silent until now.

"Then, eventually, we rediscovered space travel," said Apollo. "This broadened our horizons, but our society changed less than one might have expected. Until we encountered the Cylons."

"Your cybernetic enemies," said Korl.

"Yes. Our economy and social structure was not geared towards such a massive effort. Their attacks were merciless, and constant, with millions of deaths in those first few yahrens. After a time, so many men were engaged in fighting, that women, by necessity, began to fill jobs outside of their homes. War plants, food production, and in times of extreme danger, even some military positions, to make sure we had the numbers we needed to fight an enemy that could reproduce in almost limitless quantities. As you can imagine, over the centuries of the war, it had a profound effect on our culture and outlook. No matter what we might want, nothing could be as it was before."

"I see," said Kassa, mulling it over. "From one standpoint it does make a certain sense, Captain. War often drives one to measures unthinkable in more quietous times. Nevertheless, in the face of the temptation to importunity…" He shrugged, then turned, as the whistle sounded, and the players came back onto the floor.

"Importun…huh?" asked Starbuck.

"Immoral behavior," said Jolly, grinning as Starbuck squirmed. He handed Starbuck his bag of puffmaize.

The ball was ejected, and Athena, in a blinding move, snatched it right from Sheba's very fingertips. Then, it was a mêlée of bodies and balls. "Quite…flexible, that one," said the Zohrloch, pointing at Athena.

"My sister," said Apollo, with obvious pride. His pride went up a notch, as Athena flung the ball to her teammate, whirled around her opponent, caught the throw back to her, and scored, racking up another point.

"The golden-haired one is skillful as well," noted Sargamesh.

"My fiancé," added Apollo, oblivious to his idiot grin, or the mushies he was spilling. "YEAH, ATHENA! GO, SIS!" Sargamesh and Korl exchanged looks, and a somewhat bemused smile.

"I foresee a tranquil home life," said Sargamesh, whispering to Starbuck. The Lieutenant looked at him, and burst out laughing.

CHAPTER NINE

The evening went Red 3, Blue 2. Afterwards, Kassa asked if the _Galactica _had a place for more, as he put it, "fit exercise". Starbuck led them to the ship's Officer's Gymnasion, largely deserted at this centar, and Kassa suggested something a bit more…exerting than Triad. Thus it was that Boomer, Athena next to him, found Apollo fending off a sword blow from the Zohrloch officer.

Most of Kassa's personal effects had been salvaged from the battered _Nem'lach, _and among them was an impressive and varied collection of bladed weapons. The Battlestar's facilities also sported a few, but they were generally suited only to fencing. These were the real thing, heavy, sharp, and deadly in the right hands. Apollo had no real desire to engage in a tangle of steel, but something in the way Kassa put it was almost taunting, and he felt his ire rise.

The Zohrloch officer had recovered from his wounds with remarkable speed, given their severity, and scoffed at Apollo's offer to "go easy" on him. One weapon, a long sword with a wide, barbed tip, swung close, and Apollo ducked, bringing his own weapon, a long, curved scimitar up, blocking the other. He got close, grazing Kassa's left arm, drawing a long thin line of blue down the skin.

"Very good, Captain," he exclaimed, almost laughing. "You have some measure of skill."

"I was Academy Fencing Champion for two yahren running," Apollo replied, breathing hard. Kassa, to his annoyance, had hardly broken a sweat, and was breathing almost as if he were sitting still.

"Excellent. I do enjoy a challenge when I exercise." He attacked again, lunging for Apollo's midsection, but the Strike Captain was too nimble, dodging the thrust and blocking the other's blade. But, it was here that the design of the other's sword showed itself. As his blade moved down Kassa's it was caught by the barbs, and for an instant, the two weapons locked. In that moment, Kassa yanked with surprising strength, surprising for someone so recently out of LifeStation, pulling up, and tearing the sword from Apollo's grip. It flew off to land somewhere with a loud clang, and with a raised knee, the Zohrloch violently rammed Apollo's gut, sending him to the mat. He stood over him, swinging the vicious looking blade in one hand, and laughing. "It has been too long," he said, but got no further.

Apollo struck out with one leg, getting between Kassa's ankles, and hooking his foot behind the other's heel. It a blur, Kassa went down, and Apollo rolled out of the way just in time to avoid being impaled by the ugly blade. He leapt to his feet, bloodlust singing in his ears and pressing with one boot on Kassa's sword hand, grabbed up the sword as it fell from his grip, and holding the point to his throat. For a moment, he was reminded of the primitive he had fought, in the old bunker on Ki. Bereft of laser, he had been forced to fight, and then behead the fellow, something that still came to him in his dreams at times.

That was not going to happen here, he told himself.

Kassa looked up at him, eyes unreadable at first, then filled with a look Apollo knew all to well. Hatred. For the barest of moments, Kassa was filled with a murderous impulse, and Apollo could see the danger in this man. Then, much to his shock, the other burst out laughing.

"Excellent!" he boomed, extending his hand. After a moment's hesitation, Apollo helped him up. "You won. This I did not expect! I admire you, Captain Apollo. You know how to fight."

"That's why he's a Captain," said Starbuck, fumerello smoldering between his teeth.

"What in Hades Hole…" Boomer stammered, taking it all in. Then; "Uh, Captain. Starbuck. The Commander wants us in the War Room. Now."

"On the way, Boomer," said Apollo, picking up his lost sword, and toweling off. He set the blade back on the table, then looked over at Athena. "Good show tonight, Athena."

"Maybe, but they still won."

"Well, Sheba _was_ Fifth Fleet Women's Triad champion the year before Molocay. And Dietra…"

"Clobbered me. Oh well," she sighed, rubbing one tender shoulder. "Next time."

"Has the bridge been swept for more bugs, sir?" asked Starbuck, in the War Room. Adama had explained the situation.

"Yes, but we can't be totally sure. Boomer has rigged a scrambler here." He pointed to an odd box-like contraption on the table next to him. To Starbuck it resembled, on the face of it, nothing so much as a very weird-looking toaster. "It will block all known frequencies that might be going out of this room. Rigel has managed to block the homing signal, but there might be others for all we know. She's continuing to scan. Now, we may need to launch at a moment's notice, but I don't want our potential enemies out there to know when, or take advantage of the time it will take to get our Vipers. So, I'm going to have you spread the order by word of mouth to all pilots. Vipers are to be manned this very centon." Adama saw a few fallen expressions, but was implacable. "We have no choice. There may be more homing signals or bugs we don't know of as yet. That being the case, we must take precautions."

"Understood, Commander," said Apollo, rising, somewhat stiffly. "I'll spread the word."

"And I," said Sheba. The other squadron leaders all followed suit.

"How long till we clear the nebula?" asked Bojay.

"At our present reduced speed, we won't emerge from it for close to four more days. At our regular speed, it would be scarcely more than a centar. The electrical discharges and ionizations in the nebula will confuse their scanners, according to our analyses. We must make use of that confusion until the last possible moment."

"And then what, Commander?" asked Bojay.

"We're working on something, but it needs time."

After the briefing was over, and the pilots on their way, Adama got a report from Croft. It was both good and bad.

"We've uncovered four illegal scam operations and one missing child so far sir, but no sign of the transmitter as yet."

"Which ships?"

"We've finished with the Prison Barge, and my team is almost done with the _Gemini._ The _Hegal _is next, sir, then it's on to the _Rising Star_."

"Good, but try and speed things up if you can. I can't tell you how important this is to our survival, Major."

"Thank-you, sir. Your confidence won't be misplaced."

"I've known that since Arcta, Croft," smiled Adama.

"Sir."

As time drug on, Kassa again visited his men in LifeStation. One still hovered close to death, but the rest were now on the mend. As he spoke with them, ascertaining their health, he was making his choices. He turned to Cassiopeia.

"Well, all but Rating Li'aht are off the critical list now,' she replied, scanning the charts. "He needs a lot more regen therapy for his burns, though, as well as another operation on that arm. As soon as Midshipman Kraj is a little stronger, we can start fitting him for a prosthetic leg. Midshipmans Tos and Xax still need more anti-radion therapy, but Doctor Salik says they will recover." She went down the list with him, inwardly wondering at his new-found courtesy. _Oh well, better late than never. _

"My thanks, Miss…Cassiopeia. Now, might I have a few moments alone with my men?"

"Certainly. If you need anything, or if something happens, just hit the red button on the panel there."

"I shall." He watched her go, keeping the curl of contempt off his lip until she was gone. Then, once the door was sealed, he turned to his surviving crewmen. "Comrades."

"Sir, what has happened to us?" asked one, Kraj. "What sort of people are these?"

"Have we been captured?" asked another, Xax.

"All in good time, my friends. No, we are not prisoners. Quite the opposite, in fact. Azgul has smiled upon us. Now, I have much to say, and little time before that female comes back. I need volunteers for a mission."

"_Bakh'rha!"_ they rumbled, one and all.

"Excellent. I expected no less. Now, listen closely."

Wilker's enhancements to the Battlestar's scanners, partly culled from the captured Ziklagi vessel and partly of his own devising, punched through the nebula with less trouble then expected. The second Ziklagi vessel, now well within scanner range, continued to close on the Fleet, and upon awakening the next morning, Adama learned that Rigel had detected yet a third alien, heading their way.

Technician Hummer had reported that his sims were proceeding; twelve negative so far, and number thirteen was running. At this rate, Adama decided, they might achieve success about the time the Cylons gave up their murderous ways. Still, there were few other options, save a pitched battle with ships of an enemy about which they still knew very little.

He sat back, sighing, and thought of his old friend and comrade, Cain. A man who loved war, Cain had often operated outside the lines, even to the point of being accused of being more interested in winning than in how many lives he was throwing into the fire. Only his impressive, nay _stunning_, string of victories (he had bagged nine Cylons his very first day of combat) had kept him in command, rather than on some penal colony mining borite for his insubordination. But then, ever since Molocay, Cain had been alone, with no one else to worry about but himself and the _Pegasus_ crew. Adama wondered, had fate reversed their positions, and he had no Fleet to worry about, would he have been as reckless as Cain? The question often came to him, sometimes in the dark of the night, ever since he'd decided to take on the lone BaseShip several sectars back. Going off, leaving the Fleet alone in space, and screaming in past lightspeed to rip into a BaseShip. Yes, that sure sounded like Cain.

It also sounded like a young fellow named Adama he once knew.

"No use sitting here," he muttered to himself, deciding on a course of action. If he waited too long, he'd have their whole damned fleet on top of him. But now…

"Colonel Tigh?"

"Sir?"

"Send a message to all ship Captains. Maximum encryption. They are to come to a full stop at once, and reverse thrusters exactly five centons afterwards. Have all helms coordinate with ours."

"Sir?"

"Yes. Reverse thrusters, at the same dead slow velocity, back along the course we've been traveling." He saw Tigh open his mouth. "At once, Colonel."

"Sir." Tigh turned to relay the order to Omega, and Adama turned to look at the plotting board. He felt rather than heard Athena come up next to him.

"Father?" she asked quietly.

"I have a plan, Athena. Wild. Crazy. Something worthy of Cain perhaps, and which normally I'd dismiss out of hand. But with more of their ships quartering in-" he gestured to points on the board, "we have no luxury of time."

"Right now would be an awfully good time for the _Pegasus _to show up again, wouldn't it?"

"Well, I wouldn't complain too loudly if she did, Athena," he smiled.

"Commander," said Tigh. "All ships report dead stop, sir."

"Very well. Begin reverse course, along exactly the same bearing Colonel. Same speed."

"Yes, sir."

"And get me the Captains of the _Rising Star, _and the _Century._"

"Right away, sir."

"Father, are you planning what I _think_ you're planning?"

"What in the Pit is he planning?" muttered Over-Colonel Xonarr, aboard the Ziklagi Cruiser _Ooloogh._ He had been waiting for a reply to his signal to Command, when the massive alien ship had unexpectedly slowed to a dead stop, then just as unexpectedly begun reversing course. No turning, no maneuvering, just…backing up.

"My Lord?" asked a subordinate.

"I did not address you, Lieutenant," snarled Xonarr, frustrated both by his ignorance as well as this lack of action. He wanted to open fire on the aliens, rip into their hulls, take prisoners, sell captives. Sitting here made him feel as if he had been relegated to the lofty position of Nest Guardian. Next thing he knew, they would be asking him to change gender, or even to…

"My Lord," said his underling once more.

"Speak."

"Scan has picked up something new about the alien war vessel." Xonarr rose, and went to the scan console. There, the graphic of the Battlestar was laid out, data scrolling by. "Here."

"What is it?"

"Another ship, My Lord. Concealed beneath them."

"What type of ship?"

"From our data banks, it appears to be Eridese, My Lord."

"Erid…Helm, alter position. Make a sweep under the warship."

"My Lord."

"Eridese?" Xonarr continued.

"Yes, My Lord. The telemetry we intercepted from the _Tzsi-oosh, _before she went silent." The scan officer hit more buttons. "Here. And here. They are the same."

"Why was this not seen before?" demanded Xonarr, voice edged with danger.

"Electrical discharges from the nebula have been obscuring our scans, My Lord. When the enemy reversed course, there was a momentary clearing of gas, and the ship became clearer on our scopes."

"I see. That had _better_ turn out to be the answer, Lieutenant. _If_ you know what's good for you."

"My Lord."

"So, they have met up. And they are helping them to effect repairs it would seem," said Xonarr, looking at the main viewer. Sure enough, tucked under the Battlestar was the Eridese ship that had been engaged by the _Tzsi-oosh. _"Both intruders have made common cause it would appear."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Helm, return us to our previous position, relative the intruder vessel. And Communications, get me Command again!"

_What the Pit is he doing?_

"Excuse me," said Kassa, in a corridor near the Gymnasion, to a passing crewman, "but do you know where Sargamesh could be found at the moment?"

"Uhh, I'm not sure. Last time I saw any of the…I mean your people, was outside the Officer's Club a few centons ago," answered Corporal Lomas. He turned, pointing in the general direction.

"I see. Is he still there, do you know?" asked the Zohrloch, stiffly.

"No, I don't. Look, I have to get to my duty station right now. Sorry I couldn't help much."

"Yes, duty. I understand," he muttered at the retreating form.

"Did I hear you mention one of your people?" asked a voice. Kassa turned, and saw a tall, striking older woman, a man of somewhat greater age with her, at the far end of the corridor. After a moment he recognized them both as members of the Colonial Council from the IFB scans he had seen in Life Station.

_Politicians! _

"Yes. Sub-Commander Sargamesh. Have you seen him?"

"I believe he was there," said the man, looking from the Zohrloch to the lady next to him. "Wasn't he, Tinia?" He shifted a load of papers from one hand to the next.

"Yes, I believe so, Montrose. Yes, he was, Mist…uh, Third Officer Kassa, isn't it?"

"Yes. Good. Could you deliver this to him?" He extended a short metal tube, with one removable end, to her. "It is quite important."

"Well I…" began Siress Tinia, then she shrugged, tucking it under one arm, her hands filled with data pads. "We were headed there. I suppose so. And you? And Sargamesh, will he…"

"Sargamesh shall know its import. Just give it him, with the word '_kilee'. _He will understand. And I shall be here."

"What the Hades is he doing?" muttered Rigel, watching the other ship change positions. She had called to Adama, and he studied the screen with her.

"He's discovered the Zohrloch vessel, it would seem," said Adama. "Damn. Any change in his weapon's status?"

"None, sir. Charged, but nothing else."

"Colonel, status of _Rising Star _and _Century?_"

"Both report ready, sir, although _Century's _scanners are getting a lot of interference. Otherwise, awaiting your order."

"Good, Colonel."

"Sir," said Omega, "Technician Hummer, from Doctor Wilker's lab for you."

"Give it to me here, Omega."

"Commander."

CHAPTER TEN

"So. You have come," said Kassa, as Sargamesh rounded the corner, Korl with him.

"Did you doubt that I would? _I_ honor the ancient customs, Kassa."

"Well, that is good," said Kassa, almost in a sneer, and entered the Gymnasion. The others filed in behind him. "I _had_ begun to have my doubts. You told no one?"

"What is there to tell? This does not concern them. Besides, they are busy preparing for their attack on the Ziklagi I hear. We have a few _thodim _to spare." As he spoke, another Zohrloch survivor, Ubar-Zim, arrived.

"Good." Kassa moved to the center of the room, and removed his jacket. He stood, waiting for Sargamesh to follow suit. The other Zohrloch did so, and then extended his hand. Korl handed him the metal tube, and Sargamesh slipped the end off, and removed the paper within. Unrolling it, he read, first silently, then aloud the words written there by Kassa. He tossed the scroll to the other, and Kassa read it out aloud.

"I, Kassa kor Metz, son of Trelak kor Metz, of the Clan Ichan, do hereby accuse Sargamesh kor Tog, son of Kassa, son of Ubal't, of the Clan Zab, of negligence and culpability in the death of my son, Kazh kor Metz, son of Kassa, son of Trelak of the Clan Ichan, in the matter of the loss of the Imperial Scout Vessel _Sefrit.# _Further, I demand satisfaction by his blood, and shall reclaim the honor of our House by the shedding of his blood, or render up my own life in the attempt. What says the accused?"

"We were attacked from ambush. Our ship crippled beyond saving. I did my duty, at my station, until the end. Your son…"

"You were his Captain," replied Kassa. "_You_ are responsible for his death."

"Kassa, let us not…" began Sargamesh, but he was interrupted by the scroll and tube being thrown in his face.

"Enough whining, you slimeworm! The gods are witness, I have obeyed _kilee._" He pointed to the fallen scroll at Sargamesh's feet._ "_I say that _you_ are to blame! You were negligent in your command, and my son's blood in on _your _hands! Will you face me?" Kassa was now livid with rage.

"Should we not rather kill the Ziklagi who slaughtered both our crews?" Kassa said nothing, but merely glared like a mad beast. "Surely we would do better to seek _their _blood." Kassa remained silent and unmoved. "Very well," sighed Sargamesh. "So be it. I ask that Korl stand with me as _ch'i'ah. _Do you accept?" Kassa nodded. Ubar-Zim would stand with him.

"Then let us begin," said Kassa. He draw a short, curved blade from his tunic, a _sta'ditch, _and tossed it to Korl. The latter examined it, then handed it to Sargamesh. Kassa drew another, identical blade, and then moved a few metrons to the right. Sargamesh removed his own jacket, and faced the other.

"Now!" cried Ubar-Zim and Korl together. "May Azgul bear witness!"

Sargamesh feinted, making a lunge for his opponent, but Kassa was not deceived. He pulled back, then lunged himself, but Sargamesh leapt aside, missing being skewered on the wicked point, and brought his knife hand down on Kassa's wrist. Kassa grunted, but did not let go, grabbing Sargamesh's arm with his other hand, and pulling his opponent closer.

"Now you can die, and my son will be avenged!"

"Not quite yet!" spat Sargamesh back, and twisted as hard as he could, at the same time locking his ankle behind Kassa's. The two combatants went down in a heap, and rolled violently about on the mat.

"Can I help you?" asked the barkeep in the OClub. (Once known as Assault Nine, from Proteus Prison, after joining the Fleet, it had seemed a natural to go from making alcoholic drinks to dispensing them. His experiences in the prison commissary had stood him in good stead, and he was both happy, and well-liked by the clientele. Since his liberation, he'd changed his name legally from Assault Nine to Freeman, but everyone still called him Assault.)

"Well, I was supposed to meet one of the Zohrloch refugees here," said Horace the Linguist, datapads and printouts threatening to obscure him entirely from view. "Have you seen him?"

"Which one? There have been a few of them in here today," replied the barkeep.

"Sargamesh. The tall one from Boron-Din?"

"Couldn't say, son. They all look alike to me, what with them funny beards and all. A couple of 'em shimmied on out of here a few centons ago. Didn't ask where they were going. Say, aren't you a tad young to be in here?"

"Ah, well, I…"

"That's what I thought." Assault handed him a small ambrosia. "Well, I won't tattle if you won't. I could page yer Zohrloch fella if ya'd like."

"Thanks."

Rolling, Sargamesh managed to disentangle himself from his opponent, and kick. He felt the heels of his boots connect, and Kassa grunt. Rolling away, he got to his feet, watching his opponent do the same, fat lip and all. The look of pure hate on Kassa's face was most deliciously to his taste.

"Hurts?"

"You'll hurt more before I'm through with you, slimeworm. I'll make you feel pain." Once more he feinted, then pulled back. Sargamesh circled him, blade held tightly. For several moments the antagonists studied each other, searching for weakness. Sargamesh saw Kassa's muscles tense, certain he was about to spring, when a voice rang out:

"Sub-Commander Sargamesh, please report to the Officer's Club. Sub-Commander Sargamesh, please report to the Officer's Club."

Kassa turned ever so slightly, for the tiniest moment caught off guard it seemed by the call. Sargamesh seized that moment, and lunged. Or rather lunged, then fell to the mat and rolled, knocking the other off his feet. Once more, the two were on the mat, each with a hand locked around the other's weapon arm, struggling like the gladiators of old.

"That…will cost you," hissed Kassa through gritted teeth. "I had thought to soften…your dying. Now I will rip you…like a _kitok_'s beak, and leave you gutless."

"Not on my account," taunted Sargamesh, and suddenly relaxed his weapon hand. Exerting full force, Kassa surged forward, and Sargamesh slammed a knee into his ribs, and used his now-free hand to belt the other right across the chops. Kassa recoiled enough to let him get in a second hit, then a third, and finally his grip loosened. The two fighters rolled away, breathing hard. Surprisingly, Kassa was the first to get to his feet, blood running down his face. He put a hand to his nose, and it came away dripping.

"Not bad, _ibik. _Not bad at all." He picked up the dropped weapon at his feet.

"My thanks. Always a pleasure to instruct the unskilled in the basics. Are we up to the eight-year-old level yet?"

"Show me an eight-year-old, and I'll let you know, Sargamesh."

"Were you aware your son couldn't fight worth a dam, Kassa?" taunted Sargamesh. "I had to teach him how to draw a blade!"

"Oh really?" hissed Kassa, "I thought that was my job!" At the last word, he extended his weapon hand almost too fast to see, fingers open, and his _sta'ditch _sailed between them in the blink of an eye. Sargamesh saw it coming, but too late. He cried out as the gleaming steel sliced into his ribs. "Hurts?" sneered Kassa.

"Come and find out," rasped Sargamesh, pulling the knife from his body, and flinging the blood from it at his foe. He could feel the depth of the wound, and the blood streaming down his skin.

"Fool!" spat Kassa.

"Then stop talking, and fight, you jabberbox!" He waited a few breaths. Painful ones. "I see. You fear to attack someone with two blades."

"Fear? You know not the meaning of the word, you Harkaelian woman."

"Then shut up, and fight. Unless you wish to turn this into a battle of wits, Kassa." Sargamesh managed a taunting grin. "Of course, it _would_ be dishonorable to attack anyone who is unarmed." Sargamesh smiled wider at the reaction he got. Kassa was livid now, and surely would do something foolish. Now, if…

"Excuse me," said Horace. The Security man in blue turned to regard him.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, have you seen any of the Zohrlochs lately? I was supposed to be meeting one of them here about.." he looked at his chrono, "fifteen centons or so ago."

"No, I haven't," replied Reese, turning back and tucking into his drink. "Is there a problem?"

"Well, we were supposed to be going over some of the language data, as per the Commander's orders, and we were to meet here. I wondered if you had seen him is all."

"No I haven't. And you're too young to be in here you know." Reese took another pull, and scowled at Assault. The barkeep replied, too low for Horace to hear. Reese scowled, took another sip, then looked from him to Horace. "Beat it kid, or I'll have to run you in."

"But…"

"I said beat it, before I change my mind."

"Whatever," sighed Horace, and gathering his stuff, left the Club.

"I ought to run you in too, for serving minors," Reese told the barman.

"Maybe you ought to see beyond his age, Reese. Stop and think; an alien aboard the ship is not where he was supposed to be. Now, if I was a big, burly Security fella…" The man trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging and finding something to do at the other end of the bar. Reese finished his drink, scowling. He just _hated _it when other people told him what his job was. He looked around…

Kassa howled with fury, and charged. The two men rammed together again, and rolled on the bloody mat. Kassa ripped one of the knives from Sargamesh, badly mauling his hand in the process, and raising it for the killing blow.

"Now, you coward. Die, and tell my son that I shall be seeing him again soon."

With a laugh, the blade began to flash downwards…

"Probably no one here," muttered Reese, as he reached the Gymnasion doors. "No matter what that old geezer Montrose says." He looked down, and frowned at the spots of blue on the deck. He pressed open the door. "Probably…_Oh Frack!_" he grabbed his emergency commlink. "Medical team to Officer's Gymnasion! Emergency!"

Roughly translates as "dueling second".

Similar to the Turkish _kindjal, _or the Arabic _katar. _

An Eridese insectoid life-form, equivalent to a cockroach, that lives in filth and refuse. The term is sometimes used derisively of street-thugs who attack from ambush to rob and kill, but have no real combat skills.

# A _lupus_-like creature, large and strong, renowned for their tracking skills and tenacity. Unlike _lupus_ however, they do not live in packs.

Eridese equivalent of the centon, roughly a minute and a half in duration.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"My Lord!" cried the scan officer aboard the _Ooloogh. _

"Speak!"

"We are under attack!"

"From the alien vessel?" He looked to the screen; the enemy ship seemed unchanged, her gun turrets silent.

"I am not sure. It seems to be coming from more than one direction."

"More than one…What sort of attack?" began Xonarr, but didn't get to finish, before his ship began to shake violently.

"Some sort of high-energy pulse, directed at us, My Lord." A high-pitched squeal began to fill the bridge. "It is overloading our cloaking system!"

"Emergency power to shields!" screamed Xonarr.

"We will have to drop cloak, My…"

"Then drop it you fool! Obey me!"

"My Lord."

"He's becoming fully visible, Commander," said Tigh, on the _Galactica'_s bridge. "It's working."

"Good. Deflector grid?"

"Nearing red-line, Commander. Temperatures climbing."

"Fire control?"

"Ready, sir."

"Steady."

"His cloak is down sir!" cried Rigel.

"Alright. Shut down the transmitter, and divert all power to weapons. Open fire now on the Ziklagi vessel."

"Opening fire, sir," said Tigh.

"Emergency power you cretins!" screamed Xonarr, as one panel after another erupted in sparks and flames. Across the bridge, he saw one crewman go up in a pyre, as the huge intruder vessel pumped shot after shot into his screens. "GET US OUT OF HERE!"

"My L…_eeeeeeeeeeeee_!" The helmsman was thrown back by an explosion, and Xonarr rushed to his station. With difficulty, he got the ship to bank away, but felt her shudder from another direct hit from the Battlestar. He screamed for return fire, but could barely see through the smoke and soot in the air.

"Direct hit on our starboard quarter, sir," said Tigh. "Damage control team is en route. But we've hit him amidships four times. And both the _Rising Star _and the _Century_ report hits at range sir."

"Excellent, Tigh. Helm, full sublight speed. Take us out of the nebula."

"Sir."

"All jamming to full, Rigel."

"He's what?" bellowed Xonarr, as the report came in. "Follow him, The Pit take you! Pursue!"

As best as possible, the Ziklagi ship began to accelerate, following in the Battlestar's wake. Within moments, they had cleared the nebula, and were in free space. He fired, and the Battlestar returned it. Full of rage, Xonarr poured it on as much as his damaged ship could endure, determined to rip the living guts out of the _tchi'idichaak_ that had _dared _to attack an Imperial…"

"What?"

"Enemy ship launching single-_kfsh _fighter craft, My Lord," said the scan officer. "At least twenty!"

"What in the Pit…A trap! Cloaking system!"

"Cloaking system destroyed, My Lord! We are…" There was a loud, solid crash, and more instruments erupted in sparks and debris. "Direct hit from alien fighters, My Lord!"

"Gods no!" groaned Xonarr, as he watched the Vipers swoop down over him, delivering blow after blow. Too fast for his gunnery to accurately track, much of his return fire was wasted. One fighter passed over the bridge, and a deep rumble resounded through the ship.

"Engines down, My Lord. Power…"

But Xonarr never heard the rest of the report. He looked again at his screen, and saw the vast form of the alien behemoth bearing down on his own vessel. Diverted by the Vipers, he had not see her turn, and come back to face him. Consumed by his hurt pride and rage, he had not seen the trick being played on him by her commander. All he saw now was blast after blast of angry red beams of energy tear out of the alien, and rip into what was left of his defenses. Again and again he was pummeled, explosions and screams filling his ears, then the very deck beneath his feet heaved upwards. He saw a painfully bright white nova of light…

And then Over-Colonel Xonarr of the Imperial Fleet, would-be conqueror and mover and shaker in the corridors of power, saw….nothing.

There was cheering on the bridge, as the Ziklagi vessel ripped itself in half, then exploded again. Adama recalled the fighters, and the Battlestar banked slightly to avoid the spreading cloud of wreckage that had been Xonarr's ship.

"All Vipers back aboard, Commander," reported Tigh.

"Casualties?"

"Both Greenbean and Dietra report minor hits on one wing and undercarriage respectively. Otherwise nothing."

"Thank God for that. Helm, change course. Bring us around, course Delta Seven, Epsilon Nine."

"Laying in, sir," replied Omega.

"Launch second Viper flight, Colonel."

"Launching."

Adama watched his monitors as the second wing of fighters launched, to return and guard the Fleet behind them. He shook his head, again reminding himself of how insanely risky this was, how fraught with the possibility of total disaster. How utterly, utterly _Cain _it was.

Yet, by The Grace of God, the Lords of Kobol had been with them so far, and the Ship of Lights Beings would not have given them the course to Earth if they were never going to survive to reach her. This was going to work, if he played his cards right. It _must! _If…

_Cards right? Oh Ila, did you hear me? I'm even starting to _sound_ like Starbuck!_

"Course ready, Commander," reported Omega, as Adama read the damage report. One deflector weakened, and some scorching on the hull with minor buckling. Nothing serious, and it was well in hand.

"Execute. Maximum lightspeed factor. All ship's systems to three quarters, to conserve power."

"Executing."

And with a touch of Omega's deft fingers, the massive Colonial warship ripped a hole in space, and was gone.

"How long?" asked Cassie in Life Station. She had just finished her rounds, and after a (much too) quick turbowash had put something a little fresher on in place of her duty gown.

"Just under a centar," replied Starbuck. "He's going to hit them now, before they can gang up on us like a pack of lupus."

"God, that sounds _so_ like Cain," she said, shaking her head. "Running naked into a live volcano."

"Well, these guys don't sound like the sort who want to talk, Cassie. And after what they did to Jolly and the rest before…"

"I know. They didn't come here for a chat and a cold ambrosia. Will you be flying this one?"

"Of course. I just hoped we could grab a quick bite beforehand."

"Sure. I…"

Their voices drifted down the corridor, until they were lost to hearing. The hearing of Third Officer Kassa, as he waited for them to pass by. Once alone, he and his companion, Ubar-Zim, moved towards the Life Station door. It opened, and they stepped inside. He looked around, surprised to find the area so quite. As he steeled himself for his plan, gathering his strength, he heard a voice.

"Can I help you?" asked Medtech Waheeb. He and another, having gotten Reese's call, were loading up their gear. Waheeb at once saw evidence of Kassa's injuries, but he and Medtech Tone never got an answer, at least a verbal one. Quick as a blur, Ubar-Zim drew a weapon. It hummed with power, and the two men fell to the deck.

"No," said Kassa. "I am doing quite well on my own." He turned to his man. "Let us hurry. We have little time."

Adama watched the stars scream by, as the _Galactica _drew ever closer to IP with the next enemy ship. As the long-range scans had indicated, in order to reach them, the approaching enemy vessel had to pass through a small solar system, now only centons ahead. Filled with asteroids and cometary dust, it was the perfect place from which to ambush an enemy.

Provided _he_ was not the one getting ambushed.

"Sir," said Tigh, "Doctor Wilker's lab for you."

"My station, Colonel. Yes, Doctor?"

"It's ready as it'll ever be, Commander. The last simulation panned out, if only just."

"How long?"

"We'll have to physically plug it into the deflection controls. That's going to take some time."

"Then don't waste any more of it by talking to me. Get going."

"Yes, sir." The screen went blank, and Adama turned to Omega. "ETA to IP with the Ziklagi ship?"

"We will enter the solar system in fourteen and one half centons, Commander. All things unchanged, we will reach IP with the other vessel in sixty centons, mark."

"Good. Rigel, transfer tactical plot of that solar system to me here."

"Sir."

Adama turned, and regarded the plotting board behind him, as it cleared, then showed the space ahead. The closer they got, the more the new solar system looked like a disaster area, with rubble, asteroids, fragmenting planets, and comets in wildly eccentric orbits around a trinary sun that was pumping out huge flares, as well as abnormally high levels of radion across the spectrum. Some cosmic catastrophe had recently visited this place, but he was only interested for now in the system's strategic potential. He focused in on a likely target. _Yes, that one looks like it might do just fine._

"Solar system boundary in one centon, sir," reported Omega. "First Ziklagi ship still on her original course."

"And the third?"

"Still almost a full day away, sir. But on a heading for the nebula."

"They must not have realized what we've done yet. Athena, get me Bojay's Viper."

"Initializing, sir," she replied.

"Speak," said Xekash, in command of the Ziklagi vessel _Nooshgah. _

"Telemetry from the _Ooloogh _has ceased, My Lord."

"Ceased? A malfunction?"

"Unknown, My Lord. The signal just stopped. Attempting to reestablish contact with them."

"Yes. Scan, status of enemy warship?"

"They have exited the nebula, My Lord and are moving into System SV64YHFBKIU-88, at high speed."

"What of their Fleet?" Xekash turned to look at the other. "Xonarr reported a number of other ships following it."

"No sign of them on the scanners, My Lord. The warship is alone."

"Scan the nebula for them."

"Impossible at this range, My Lord. Electro-magnetic turbulence within the nebula is effectively blocking our scans."

"Oghul's dung!" swore Xekash. "Keep trying. Status of the _Ilshu'u_?"

"Still close to a full day behind us, My Lord. We will reach IP with the enemy vessel long before they."

"Very well. Continue to broadcast tactical reports to base. Charge all weapons, load all tubes."

"My Lord," replied the weapons officer.

"Tactical officer, activate our cloak."

"My Lord."

"Commander," said Rigel, "he's trying to screen himself. Scans show he's activated his cloaking system."

"Can you still track him, Rigel?"

"Yes, sir. The scanner modifications are working as expected."

"Good. Keep me apprised."

"Yes, Commander."

"Commander, asteroid mass one-four at 227," said Tigh.

"Excellent. Omega, alter course."

"Altering, Commander."

"Athena, get me Twilly, on the _Nem'lach._"

"Right away." She turned to her board as Adama studied the tactical plot again. "Father?"

"Yes?"

"Chief Twilly doesn't answer."

"Doesn't answer?"

"Yes. In fact, no one on the Zohrloch ship is answering. All commlinks are dead."

"Well what …"

"Sir," said Omega, "Doctor Salik, from Life Station. Two of his medtechs have been attacked."

"Attacked?" Adama half-rose out of his seat. "By whom?"

"Unknown, sir. But several of the Eridese survivors are missing and unaccounted for."

"Miss…Colonel, get me Major Croft."

"Major Croft and his team are still conducting the search, sir. Aboard the _Rising Star _at the moment."

"Then get me Security."

"Father, Sergeant Reese on the line for you," called Athena.

"Reese?"

"That is the last of them, sir," said Xax, in the airlock.

"Any trouble?" asked Kassa.

"None at all. They all went down like grain before the scythe." They both looked down at the crumpled forms of Twilly and others of his crew.

"Good. Now let's dump them, and get aboard." Kassa sighed, and slumped a moment.

"Are you alright, sir?"

"Never mind me," said Kassa, straightening up. "We have little time to do what we must."

"Sir."

A Ziklagi epithet, referring to a swamp creature of uncertain virtue.

An adult male person, originally a Ziklagi of free status, but now applied to any sentient race with the standard two genders. Translatable as _man._ _Female _or _woman _is _akfsh._

CHAPTER TWELVE

Xekash studied the approaching ship on his instruments, and admitted to feeling impressed. Never had he seen such a vessel, and even the telemetry from the now-silent _Ooloogh _had not fully prepared him for the reality of it. Looking at her, her massive landing bays bigger than his entire ship, her huge power plants and lethal-looking weapon emplacements, he began to doubt that Xonarr's silence stemmed from something as mundane as a mere malfunction. He ordered a full deep scan of the region, and the launching of a remote probe. After what seemed an eternity of waiting, he was proven right. Tell-tale traces of energy and debris, back along the intruder's path.

"He will pay for that," Xekash hissed, as he watched the rubble-strewn solar system draw closer. "If I have to hunt him down to the furthest reaches of the galaxy, I will make this thief and intruder pay." He looked from one instrument to the next. "Speak, scan."

"Enemy vessel altering course, My Lord." The underling put a tactical plot up on his skipper's board. "Heading towards a large asteroid at thirty-seven decimal seven." Xekash could see the huge blip representing the Battlestar moving to intersect the space body. Well…

"Yes?" he asked, realizing the other had spoken.

"Radiation from the trinary sun and secondary re-emissions will interfere with our scans, the deeper we go into this system, My Lord. We also will have little room for fast maneuvering."

"Then we must fall back upon the warrior's ultimate weapon. Cunning, Ulpash," he replied, patting the other on the shoulder. "We must use cunning." Unlike his late colleague, Xekash was not an imperious tyrant with his crew, consumed with ambition and ruling through cold suspicion and fear. He preferred for his crew to actually _like_ him, rather than _fear_ him.

Fewer Captains got assassinated that way.

"Yes, My Lord."

"Crossing the heliopause now, My Lord," reported the helmsman. "Maintaining speed."

"Helm, slow to sub-light velocity. Sound battle stations, arm all weapons."

"My Lord."

"We cannot get in, sir," reported Reese, at the airlock to the Zohrloch ship. "She's completely locked down, and won't respond to the overrides."

"And Twilly's crew?" asked Adama.

"Alive, sir. But still out from whatever they were stunned with. Dumped in the outer lock." Reese looked at the lock again. "We could use the heavy cutter beams, or possibly explosives, sir."

"We may have to, Sergeant. I…" Adama stopped, as Athena called to him. Incoming signal, from the _Nem'lach._

Kassa wanted to speak to him. At once.

"Put him on," ordered Adama.

Kassa had been impressed at the sight of the _Nem'lach_'s bridge, once back aboard. Most of the wreckage had either been cleared, or welded back into place. Many of the instrument clusters had been repaired, bridged, or had been removed, new couplings waiting for new consoles in the empty frames.

"They make good engineers," said Ubar-Zim, bringing various systems on-line. "So much waiting and ready."

"Did they but know" chuckled Kassa. With Ubar-Zim and Xax to help, they opened sealed lockers in the bulkheads over the various stations, and removed duplicate banks of controls. One by one, they connected them up, sliding the new panels into place, each one lighting up, going through it's start-up routines, bit by bit bringing the once-shattered bridge back to a semblance of life. "Here," he said, and Xax assisted him in removing another. A tall, podium-like array, they carried it to a spot next to the Captain's chair, and Xax lifted up a metal plate from the deck. Inside was a waiting bank of circuits, contacts gleaming in the light. With care, they slid the console into place, and pushed down. With a click and a beep, it made contact, coming at once to life.

"I can control the rest from here," said Kassa, taking the seat, and turning the repeater arrays towards him. With a skeleton crew, many of derelict or dead stations could be localized to the repeater, and operated by him from the center seat. "Begin the pre-flight now."

"Sir," said Xax.

"And get me Commander Adama."

"C…yes, sir."

"Ziklagi vessel has dropped down below lightspeed, Commander," reported Omega. "Altering to course to intercept us."

"Very well, Omega," said Adama, sitting down. The screen cleared, going from Reese to Kassa, on his bridge. "Kassa, this is Adama. I must insist you open the airlocks, and return to the _Galactica_ at once."

"Commander, you must know I have no intention of doing that. Not now, not ever." As the Zohrloch spoke, Adama noticed how pale he seemed, his breathing labored, as if he were ill.

_Or injured. Yes!_

"Kassa, you're hurt. Come back aboard, and let us help you. You'll…"

"Die?" said Kassa, almost laughing? "We all must…die sometime, Commander. As a soldier you know that. My death was understood from the beginning."

"Kassa…"

"I want you to immediately release the _Nem'lach_ from the _Galactica. _All docking clamps, all umbilicals, all airlocks."

"Kassa, we are about to go into battle against the Ziklagi ship. I…"

"All the better reason to undock now. Our added mass will only hinder you."

"What do you intend to do?"

"Finish…" said Kassa, his voice spiking into a near-squeak for a moment. "Finish the battle my Captain started. I am going to destroy them."

"One ship? And a battered hulk at that? You must be mad, Kassa. Your ship is in no condition to fight anyone."

"How little you understand us, Commander Adama," smiled Kassa, shifting in his seat. "This is going to be a one-way mission."

"You cannot be serious, Kassa. What of your men? I…"

"Death before defeat, Commander!" cried the Zohrloch. "We will redeem our honor, or perish in the attempt, Azgul willing."

"Kassa, I will not…"

"Commander," said Kassa coldly, "I do not intend to sit here forever arguing with you! Neither of us have the time." He reached to something off-camera, and spoke to one of his men. "I am in deadly earnest, Commander. If you will check your scans of my ship?" Adama did so, and his heart sank, and his ire rose. One of the surviving gun turrets of the _Nem'lach _was moving, the huge barrels lining up on a point on the Battlestar's underside. "If you do not release my ship within ten of your centons…" Kassa stopped, taking a deep breath, "I will order my gunner to open fire. I believe one of your main environmental recycling plants is behind that section of the hull. Close to an auxiliary energizer?" Kassa waited a beat. As he did so, another, smaller anti-aircraft turret rotated, till it had locked on to one of the pylons connecting the launch bay to the main hull. "And your launch bay, plump with fuel for your fighter craft, is behind that one."

"Commander, he's right," said Tigh, pointing to a graphic on one screen. "A blast from either turret into those sections will cripple us for sectars at best, and rip us apart at worst."

"Our screens?"

"Never designed for anything like this, sir. Their ship is _within_ the shield perimeter. The screens would be useless."

"Can we hit him with our own defensive guns?"

"Yes, but if he explodes…"

"I am waiting, Commander," said Kassa.

"Sir," came Reese's voice. "We can take them."

"And how would you do that, Sergeant?" asked Tigh, a bit frostily.

"If we blow the airlocks from outside, we could space their ship, and kill them all."

"We can't be sure someone won't hit the right control before the air runs out, Sergeant," said Adama. He looked at the tactical plot, then at the waiting Kassa. The man was obviously hurt, if the report from Salik was anything to go by. Obviously, the man was determined to go out in a blaze of glory, rather than die in a hospital bed. And, he was sure all the inner bulkheads were sealed, to forestall just such a plan as Reese had suggested. Kassa was holding all the capstones here for sure.

And he had Adama by the…

"Very well, Kassa. You seem to have us at a disadvantage."

"That's how one achieves victory, Commander," replied the Zohrloch. "Well?"

"I agree. Your ship will be uncoupled within four centons."

"I shall hold you to that, Commander Adama!" And so said, the screen went blank.

"Reese, get your people out of the lock now," ordered Adama. "Seal off the inner hatch."

"Right away sir," replied the other, if a bit reluctantly.

"Very well, Colonel" said Adama, trying to keep his temper in check. "Uncouple the _Nem'lach._"

"Sir."

"Sir!" cried Ubar-Zim, as Kassa slumped in his seat. He moved to his CO, catching him before he could hit the deck.

"I shall be alright, Ubar," said Kassa, this time without the usual snap. He pressed his hand against his abdomen, and it came away bloodstained. Ubar handed him a fresh cloth, and bound his wound as best he could. "Engines?"

"Engaging restart cycle now, sir. But with all the incomplete repairs, diagnostics are down, and I cannot tell if we could achieve warp or not."

"Perhaps we should execute Engineer Twilly for not finishing the job?" Ubar laughed. "It is all in Azgul's hands, old friend." Kassa straightened up, as the sound of latches and cables detaching reverberated through the hull. He gestured, and Ubar-Zim returned to his post. "Internal power?"

"Internal power, sir, but only up to twelve percent so far. Life-support systems at twenty-four percent."

"Satisfactory."

Reese and the Security Squad watched impotently from the repair control room, as the last of the machinery was pulled away from the Zohrloch vessel, and the _Nem'lach _finally floated free. He was angry that these…thugs as far as he was concerned, were going to get away with it. They should all be tossed into a penal colony as far as Reese was concerned, or spend their lives on the mineral ship. True, hot guns pointed at sensitive parts of the _Galactica _point blank hadn't given the Commander much choice, but it still rankled like Hades Hole.

"How far do they think they can get in that wreck?" asked Private Curry, next to him.

"Lords know, Curry. Aw Hades, maybe it's just as well. We don't need all those aliens among us. The people we have are bad enough."

"Yes, sir."

As soon as she was away, the _Nem'lach_'s engines slowly began to glow, as power once more flowed out of her main reactor core. Slowly, her drive was brought back up, and it was obvious that Twilly and his crew had done a good job on her. The Zohrloch ship fired several maneuvering thrusters, and began to drop "down", then move away from the huge ship that had cocooned her. Within a few centons, the other was free to move as she would.

"Good riddance," said Reese.

"Yes, sir," agreed Curry.

"My Lord?"

"Yes?" said Xekash.

"Another vessel, My Lord. It seems to be splitting off from the intruder."

"Give it to me," ordered Xekash. He looked into his instruments. Sure enough, a sizeable contact was pulling away from the alien, as if a part of it was breaking off. "Is she damaged?"

"No sign of damage to the larger ship, My Lord. Attempting to identify the new contact."

"Yes. At once."

Despite all her battle damage and hammered appearance, the _Nem'lach _quickly began moving away from the _Galactica, _seeking free space. Adama watched her go, momentarily tempted to open up on her as payment for Kassa's treachery, but decided not. He'd intended to dump the other vessel anyway before trying to pull sharp and fast maneuvers in this crazy solar system, and he didn't need _two _enemies in the upcoming action.

_Of course, now that she's separate from us…_

"Farewell, Commander Adama," said Kassa, back on the screen for the moment. "I do not ask you to forgive my actions, merely that you understand us. It is our way. You are an…interesting people, and had we met under other circumstances, well. The gods…we are but their playthings, are we not?"

"So it often seems," replied Adama, deciding this was no time for a theological discourse.

"_Bakh'rha!" _rumbled Kassa, pounding his chest with his fist. Adama could see the blood staining his hand and sleeve. "It is a good day to die! May you find your victory!" And so said, Kassa broke the link.

"What does he think he's going to do with that pile of scrap?" asked Tigh.

"Lords know," replied Adama.

"Sir," said Omega. "She's firing her engines."

They looked, and, somewhat surprisingly, the once-savaged warship began to move with surprising speed away from them, across the solar system.

"Commander," said Athena. "Doctor Wilker on the line for you."

"My Lord, second vessel heading our way."

"What in the Pit is he up to?" wondered Xekash aloud. "Is this some sort of cluster vessel?"

"Negative, My Lord. The second vessel is Eridese."

"Eridese? But…" Xekash was silent a long moment, watching the other draw closer. Though not on an intercept vector, she would pass close to him on a pathway out of the solar system. What was this all about? As the other drew closer, he did a double take. The ship looked like it had taken massive damage, and ought to be on it's way to the scrap yard. Part of the bow was missing, and a haphazard array of plates covered sections of the hull. One gun turret was blown open to space, and deep burn marks were all over her.

"Xegex's left foot, that thing flies?" said one crewman, looking at the other ship. "Must be downside of a gravity well," said another. A ripple of laughter spread around the bridge, and Xekash let it pass.

"It is the ship that attacked the _Tzi-oosh_, My Lord," said Ulpash. "Apparently, they have found help."

"At the hands of these others? But what is the connection?"

"Unknown at this time, My Lord. Nothing in our data banks matches the intruder vessel."

"I see." As he watched, the Zohrloch ship banked slightly, moving onto a direct vector for him. He turned. "Cloak status?"

"Functional, My Lord. But cometary dust and radiation from the suns are interfering. We are leaving a visible trail."

"What can we do?"

"Slow the ship, and…"

"My Lord!" cried the helmsman, "we are under attack!"

Xekash turned, to see the other ship bearing down upon him. _The gods take this_ _interfering muck! _He barely had time to order shields raised, when the other screamed by, firing. Salvos from two guns hit him directly, and one torpedo fired from aft exploded against the bow. The _Nooshgah _rocked violently, and banked hard over. Xekash ordered her brought about.

"So, he wants to fight!"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Only the _Nem'lach _wasn't going to, it seemed. After plastering the _Nooshgah _as best he could, Kassa continued on, increasing his speed as he headed out of the system. As Kassa had expected, the Ziklagi had stopped his approach to the Battlestar, and was coming about to pursue him.

"Now, if Adama will just get that oversized monster of his moving," said Kassa, watching. "Damage to enemy, Xax?"

"Minor buckling of his forward screens, sir. Same amidships. No serious damage detected."

"But we stung him, and he doesn't like it. Ubar?"

"Sir?"

"What's our warp status?"

"We can enter it, but without diagnostics, there's no telling how long the engines will take it, or how fast we can go."

"Well, it's better to hobble to the next battle on one leg than for your enemy to drag your butt through the sand." He looked at Kraj, who had lost a leg in the earlier battle, and was reduced to using a crutch. "Kraj, lay in the course to the space station."

"Plotting, sir."

"Xax, give us all the power you can."

"I shall."

"Ziklagi coming up behind us, sir." The _Nem'lach_ shook from a near-miss, her screens pitifully weak still. "They are targeting again, sir."

"Fire a spread of aft torpedoes, then hit it."

"Sir."

Adama watched as the two alien ships danced about. Why Kassa was doing this, baiting the other but making no serious attack, had at first puzzled him. Then, just as her torpedoes flared to life against the _Nooshgah, _it became clear.

"He's softening her up for us," he said, as the Ziklagi vessel rocked from another direct hit. Then, space opened up, and the _Nem'lach _slipped through the opening, and was gone.

"She's gone into lightspeed, sir," said Omega.

"Amazing that she even can," said Tigh. The Colonel turned as Reese entered the bridge, Twilly and another of his crew with him.

"Since she was going to be joining the Fleet," said Twilly, " we worked on restoring her propulsion systems first, Commander, once her support systems were stabilized. Her engines are remarkable, and we wanted to study their methods of entering lightspeed."

"Can their hull take that kind of stress, though? In her current state?"

"I honestly don't know, sir. Parts of her were pretty badly torn up, others were bizarrely intact."

"Commander," said Omega, "I have a readout on the Zohrloch vessel's course."

"Yes?" Omega shunted it to Adama's station, and the Commander read it. Then he read it again.

"Commander?" asked Tigh.

"Oh my God."

"Status?" demanded Xekash.

"Hyperdrive down, My Lord," replied Ulpash. "Forward sensors off-line. Trying to compensate with secondary systems."

"Cloak?"

"Down as well, My Lord. That last torpedo blast put enough through the screens to burn out the emitters."

"Effect repairs. Status of alien ships?"

"The larger ship is still within the system," said Ulpash, indicating the tactical screen. "The Eridese vessel succeeded in using the torpedo attack to slip into hyperspace, My Lord."

"Her course?"

"Unable to ascertain at this time, My Lord."

"Pit worms!" Xekash snarled, pounding a fist on his chair arm. "Notify Command of events, and try and raise the _Ilshu'u _as well."

"My Lord."

"He seems to be hurt, Commander,' said Tigh, at the scanners. "His power readings are all over the place, and he's signaling his command base."

"I see. And the other?"

"On course for the space station." Adama swore as he took in the tactical situation. Both the _Galactica _and the _Nooshgah _remained within the solar system, while the _Nem'lach_ was speeding out of it, on course for the space station the Zohrlochs had told him of earlier. Serving as both commercial and administrative hub for the entire region, it would no doubt be a prime target for Kassa's wrath.

_But what in Hades Hole can he expect to do with a single ship, and a damaged one at that? Unless…_

"Athena, get me Life Station at once!"

"Okay, she's in," said Hummer, to Wilker, in the guts of the _Galactica'_s engineering section. Before them was an ugly conglomeration of parts, circuits and flashing lights that made an IL Series Cylon look almost sexy. "Volpons?"

"Steady."

"Amplons?"

"Steady."

"Inductor tolerances?"

"Still fluctuating," said Wilker. "Damn, she won't steady down."

"Here, sir. Let me try something."

"Yes, Commander," said Sargamesh, in a biobed in Life Station. He was bandaged, drugged, and looked awful, but the prognosis was good. "He means to attack the station and sacrifice himself in doing so."

"What can he hope to achieve?" asked Adama. "The _Nem'lach_ is barely functional. He can't make a dent in that station from what we've learned of it."

"He can die in battle, Commander. He is of the old school. His failure in combat has dishonored him."

"Failure? The Ziklagi ship was destroyed."

"He survived, while others, including his Captain, did not. And, I believe the loss of his son has unhinged him to a degree."

"But all he'll do is die for nothing."

"By…" Sargamesh stopped, coughing heavily. Cassie appeared and gave him a hypo of something. Korl continued the story.

"No, Commander, not nothing. He can die in battle. By devoting himself in battle to death, he offers himself to Azgul, and regains his honor, and that of his family. He's dying anyway. In his duel with Sargamesh, he took a deep wound. A mortal one. He can't last much longer."

"Ridiculous," said Adama, not giving a frack for the moment about religious or cultural tolerance. "All he is going to do is make the Ziklagi even angrier, and they'll be hunting us harder than they are now."

"Even so, Commander," said Korl.

"Is there any way you could reason with him?" asked Tigh. "Convince him to return?"

"No more so than you could convince the Cylons to change, Colonel. He is fixed on a course, and those with him go voluntarily. To seek death in battle is considered a form of heroic salvation."

"Idiot," muttered Tigh.

"All I can suggest, sir," said Sargamesh, recovered for now, "if you wish to save yourself and your people, is to get away from here, and rejoin your Fleet. For the moment, Kassa will have them distracted. Use that distraction, Commander."

"He's right, Commander," offered Tigh.

"I agree," said Adama, albeit reluctantly. He turned to Omega. "Helm, alter…"

"Sir," said Omega, "Ziklagi vessel hailing us. And she's quartering in at high speed. Her weapons are charged!"

"Red Alert!"

Xekash had been in a momentary quandary. His impulse was to pursue the _Nem'lach_, overhaul, engage, and destroy her. His ship was not the only thing that had taken a battering, his pride was as stung as his screens. As he waited for a full status report, he withdrew into himself, and let his anger slowly bubble. One way or the other, someone was going to die today. Someone was going to pay, and pay dearly, for their effrontery. Someone…

"My Lord?"

"Speak."

"Shields restored, all weapons on-line. Hyperdrive will be functional shortly."

"Enemy status?"

"The Eridese vessel is continuing on towards Station Sixteen. The other vessel is still within this solar system, My Lord."

"Can we pursue?"  
"Not at this time, My Lord. Our hyperdrive is…"

"Open a channel to the intruder ship."

"My Lord."

"You heard me! Signal Command about the escaping ship. And sound attack stations! All hands, prepare for battle!"  
"For battle, My Lord!"

"Attention, commander enemy vessel," said the hideous creature on the screen, "this is Over-Colonel Xekash, of the Imperial battlecruiser _Nooshgah. _You are trespassing in Imperial space, have collaborated with criminals, and have committed both acts of piracy and wanton acts of war against our people. I order you in the name of the Triumvirate to immediately stand down, and prepare to be boarded or destroyed."

"Over-Colonel Xekash," replied Adama, "I am Commander Adama of the Colonial Battlestar _Galactica. _We…"

"I don't care who you are, Commander. You have been ordered to stand down, and stand down you will, or face the consequences. This is the only chance you will receive." And so said, Xekash cut the connection.

"Helm, bring us around," ordered Adama. "Course two-two-eight. Positive shield now, Colonel. All weapons ready."

"All weapons show ready, sir."

"Get me Wilker in Engineering."

"Here he comes," said Athena.

Xekash watched as the behemoth starship drew closer and closer. She might be big, she might have gotten lucky in her engagement with that idiot Xonarr, but she looked as if she had the maneuverability of a bog whale. A few passes, a few well-placed hits, and she's learn who was master of war here.

_Oghul's ass, but these creatures were hideous! _

"Stand by to attack," ordered Ulpash, to a subordinate.

The _Galactica _came around, putting some serious distance between herself and the asteroid. As she did so, the _Nooshgah _altered course as well, to try and keep her in their sights. Banking hard to port at the very last micron, she avoided the Ziklagi ship's broadside, taking only a few glancing strikes, and returning fire as the other tore by. Xekash took a direct hit to his stern, but kept moving.

"Wilker!" shouted Adama over the commlink.

"It's not working Commander. Something's not synching."

"We're going to be sinking if you don't get that thing operational now!"

"Yes, sir."

The Battlestar came around the asteroid, the other in hot pursuit. Once more, Omega brought them over, dodging the Ziklagi and avoiding the bulk of her firepower. Either the other ship wasn't as maneuverable as she seemed at first look, or her skipper had underestimated the _Galactica'_s. Either way…

"Here she comes!" someone shouted, and angry energy crossed between the two ships. Adama felt his ship lurch from the blasts, and saw fire spit from his own guns in reply. Xekash's shields blossomed as he screamed by, his parting shot striking near the bow.

"Hit on our port bow, Commander," reported Athena.

"Damage control."

"They seem to be fully engaged, sir,' said Ubar-Zim, aboard the speeding _Nem'lach._

"Any details?" asked Kassa. He was paler, now, and his breathing seemed more labored.

"No, sir. Too far, now. I'm barely picking them up at all."

"Very well. All…all scans forward. Helm?"

"On course, sir. Maintaining velocity."

"Xax?"

"If we try to go any faster, we are likely to blow our engines completely."

"That would never do. Any sign of pursuit?"

"None so far, sir. All clear."

"Very well. Steady as she goes.

Once more Omega banked the huge ship, and Adama used the moment's freedom to launch the Vipers. Although the close confines of the asteroids and other space debris made them less effective, he had confidence in his pilots, down to the most fresh-faced cadet.

"Vipers away, Commander."

"He has launched fighters, My Lord," reported Ulpash. "Single-_kfsh _craft."

"Pit worms! Helm, come around!"

"He's making for another pass, sir," said Tigh. "Port batteries, lock on!"

Ugly pencils of light ripped out, to strike the other ship, and the Colonials took some in return. Adama could feel the impact of the enemy ordnance, and turned back to the scanner screen. He changed course once more, leading the _Nooshgah _between two clusters of rubble, momentarily protecting both flanks. As he had prayed, Xekash took the bait, and fell in right behind him.

"Missile lock Commander!" shouted Omega.

"All aft batteries, fire!"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"He's making another run for her!" said Apollo, in his Viper. All the remaining Vipers had sped out from the Battlestar, to form up and harrie the enemy ship. So far, clear shots had been few, but the Ziklagi was in no doubt that they were there. "Starbuck?"

"I'm on it, Apollo."

"Sheba?"

"His astrum is mine, Apollo."

As the Battlestar made a run, sliding between large clusters of debris, the _Nooshgah _was quick to follow. The Ziklagi opened fire on Adama's stern, and then found that he was stung himself. Both Vipers connected, skewering Xekash's fantail, and causing the ship to jerk slightly. As she passed over the enemy, Sheba's scanner began to sound.

"Missile lock, Apollo!" she called out, and yanked her ship around. "He's latched onto the ship!" Bringing the Viper back to bear on the _Nooshgah, _she opened fire, not bothering to line anything up on her scope, and just hosed power into her prey.

"Firing, Commander!" cried Omega.

Xekash heard a scream as his forward screen flared up into white oblivion, and the entire vessel shook as if some angry god had reached out and swatted it. Flames erupted from a bank of circuits, torching one crewman and badly burning another. Something reverberated on the hull, and more sparks spat around him.

"Helm! Get us out of here!"

"Good work, Sheba!" said Starbuck, watching the results of her handiwork. "You got the fracking slug!"

Below and behind, the _Nooshgah _was moving away, her entire bow scorched and blackened by the destruction of her own ordnance. Sheba's attack had caught one of the alien's torpedoes as it sped away from its launch tube. The resulting detonation had heaved the other's bow up and over, saving the _Galactica _from a catastrophic hit. The Battlestar was moving away, and debris from the nearby asteroids was blowing back on Xekash, forcing the Ziklagi to break off for the moment.

"Great shot, Sheba!" said Boomer, watching the Battlestar escape serious harm. "Those things were heavy megon fusion warheads. Could have done a lot of damage. Right on, Sheba!" He waited a moment. "Sheba?"

"She gets a free drink on me!" said Giles.

"And me," said Brie.

"Will you look at that? All the radion's put communications in the turboflush," said Starbuck, his speaker full of static. "My scanner…"

"Sheba?" called Apollo. There was no answer.

"_SHEBA?"_

"Great shooting, Omega," said Tigh, patting the other on the shoulder as the blast cleared aft. "That one had our name on it."

"Not me, sir. One of the Vipers caught that one. Detonated their entire missile spread just as we fired at it. Couldn't have timed it better if I had tried, sir."

"Thank God for that!" said Adama. "Send the pilots my thanks. Status of enemy vessel?"

"He's pulled away, Commander," replied Omega. "Somewhat sluggishly. His speed's down. He's arcing away…looks like he's going to try and make another pass."

"Get me Wilker again."

Xekash was in an artery popping fury. Something as small as a…a _fighter_ had spoiled what would surely have been a glorious victory! He knew his missiles would surely have crippled the alien, and dragging back home her shattered hull would have given him enough prestige to last a lifetime. He pounded a fist on his chair, and swore, long and caustically as the arm fell off, till the smoke cleared.

"Bring us around, helm! Full speed!"

"My Lord, our forward tubes are damaged and off-line. Torpedo room is not answering."

"Guns?"

"Two appear to be working. All others report operational."

"All to full power. Attack!"

The Battlestar banked to avoid another large asteroid, but missed a few of the smaller ones. They could hear, even on the bridge, a few of the smaller chunks of stony ice smack into the hull as they danced around this accursed system.

"Status of Viper squadrons?"

"Commander, Ziklagi vessel approaching!" said Omega. "All his weapons are hot, and have acquired us."

Adama looked around for options. He could hardly go to lightspeed in this garbage, and he was threading his way through it with difficulty as it was. Another cluster of debris was directly ahead, and another attack like the last one, if it connected this time…

"Wilker!"

"It's working, sir! At least it seems to be."

"Throw the switch."

"I can't guarantee it won't overload…"  
"_THROW THE DAMN SWITCH!"_

Gritting his teeth, Wilker pressed down on the tribunal-rigged panel of controls, and squeezed his eyes shut. Hummer gasped loudly, and…

"Weapons?"

"Enemy acquired, My Lord. All banks ready."

"Helm?"

"Attack maneuver programmed, My Lord. All shields to maximum emergency levels."

"Good. Fire on my mark."

Xekash watched as the distance counted down. The huge ship was opening fire again from a distance, but he knew he had her this time. The fighter craft were a fair distance away, still, and the Battlestar was about to find her way blocked by a new region of debris. Either this Commander Adama was a fool, or his scanners were being fouled by this system's damned radiation and debris. Either way, it worked to his advantage, and soon the intruders would feel it.

"Sir," said Ubar-Zim, aboard the _Nem'lach, _"space station now on our scanners."

"How long until visual range?"

"Almost two more _trellim_, sir. Still no sign of pursuit."

"Very well," said Kassa, weakly. "Steady on."

Xekash dove on the _Galactica,_ guns and tubes ready to spit death, ripping the alien hull and giving him the prize of a lifetime. He raised one hand, about to order his gunner to open fire, when the huge Battlestar filling his targeting scope…

Just faded away.

"What in the…Gone?" He was silent a moment, trying to make sense of this new shock. "Oghul's ass! Helm, hard over! NOW!"

"My Lor…" began the helmsman, when the _Nooshgah _rocked as if it had slammed into a wall. Everyone and thing was thrown about, and equipment belched fire and smoke. Screams and curses filled the air, and then it went dark.

"It's working!" said Tigh, as the bridge lights dimmed by more than half. "Commander, it's working."

"Seems to be." Adama turned, and his vision seemed to blur a bit, and he felt dizzy. Tigh reached out to steady him. "There seem to be side effects of this technology, Colonel. Omega, get us out of here now. Fire on the enemy as she passes."

"Laser power down almost forty percent, Commander."

"So be it. Fire."

"Sir."

"Where the Hades did she go?" asked Cree, as the Battlestar vanished off his scanner. "Captain Apollo? The _Galactica. _She just…"

"Hold it, Cree," said Starbuck.

The _Galactica _pulled away, a few smaller asteroids bouncing off her hull as she did so. The _Nooshgah_ was, however, not so fortunate. Taken by surprise, she did react quickly enough to avoid a collision with a large chunk of rock. A glancing blow to be sure, but her hull screamed and buckled as she scraped along it, finally tearing away into space. Debris and radion began trailing from her torn hull as she fell astern of the _Galactica. _

"Omega, open fire on the Ziklagi," ordered Adama, calmly. He knew he could hardly leave the other to report what had happened, despite his personal abhorrence at the killing of living beings. Omega's targeting was, naturally, as good as ever, and the salvos struck the other dead on. Before he could fire again, there was a flash of light, and the alien disappeared from view.

"Got him!" said Tigh.

"Yes. Helm, reduce to dead slow, and bring us around to recover Vipers. "Athena, get me Apollo. Squadron casualty report."

"On the line now, Father." She listened. "Oh no!" She met her father's eyes, and Adama felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut.

Plural of _trell, _the basic time unit of the Eridese day. Equivalent in usage to "hour", or "centar".

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Anything?" asked Adama, as the scanners swept the asteroid field yet again. It had been over a full centar since they had recovered fighters, and there was still only one Viper unaccounted for. The Commander looked up, to see Apollo, stiff and silent, watching the instruments from afar. He hadn't seen his son look like that since…when? Not since returning to the ship during the ambush at Cimtar, and finding out about Zac. He knew Apollo too well to think that he was doing anything other than blaming himself. If Apollo had a failing, it was his tendency to internalize every error, every loss, as though he were somehow personally responsible for carrying the whole universe on his shoulders.

"Nothing, Commander," said Omega, running the sweep. "No sign of Sheba's Viper, no transponder signal or biosigns. Solar radion is interfering."

**"Keep trying!" Apollo suddenly let out a loud bark. It was totally out of character for him to inject himself so openly during his father's presence on the bridge. But for Apollo this situation was different. Everything in the last few sectars had seen things fall so wonderfully into place for him regarding himself and Sheba, and the prospect of a new life together. Their opening up to each other. The harrowing experience with Iblis aboard the horrifying Derelict. Winning Boxey over. If he had to suddenly face this prospect of losing her so close to when he'd at last become convinced that his life was finally in order again after the pain of losing Serina, he wasn't sure if he could ever recover mentally or emotionally from this.**

Or if he would even want to.

**His father stared at him gently, trying to let him know that he shared his son's inner anguish over this, but that he also needed to stay strong for now and restrain his emotions. "We're doing what we can, Apollo. You know that."**

**"Yeah, yeah," his son avoided looking him and nodded hastily. "I just..."**

**"Show some faith in her ability, son," Adama put his hand on his shoulder. "And show some faith in Someone higher too."**

"**"He's right, Apollo!" Starbuck was feeling just as inwardly upset as Apollo but he also knew that this was the time he needed to show some strength for his best friend. "**She can't just have been…" Starbuck tried to say, but faltered, sparing a glance at his Strike Captain. "I mean she was pulling up from the Ziklagi ship when those missiles went off. Away from it."

"I saw it too, sir," said Cree. "She looked like she was clear to me."

"I understand," said Adama, who had debriefed the pilots, albeit hurriedly, and understood the situation. **"Now you hear that, Apollo? Give it a little more time and it should work itself out." He tried to sound understanding. **He also understood that they couldn't stay to search the area for much longer, even with Wilker's magic cloak. It had saved them in battle, but consumed so much power, parts of the ship had unexpectedly shut down, and they had nearly burned out the emitter grid. Obviously, the contraption could only be used sparingly, and while hiding in all this space garbage gave them a breather for repairs…

**"How much longer can you realistically give her?" the words came out of Apollo's mouth rapidly. "You know as well as I do that we can't search this area too much longer. Not with all the power Wilker's cloak consumed----."**

**"I intend to give her a chance, Apollo," his father said slowly, and firmly. "Now _you_ give it to her as well." They turned back toward the railing that overlooked the areas where Rigel and Omega remained fixed before their consoles, their hands rapidly going over the keyboards so they could check and recheck the various sectors adjacent to the Battlestar to the fullest extent.**

**But time drug on, and after another couple of centars, Adama felt with a growing certainty that Sheba was gone, and that he now had no other choice. He turned reluctantly to Tigh. "Colonel…"**

"You can't leave her behind, Commander!" exploded Starbuck, almost leaping. "I mean…"

"Starbuck," said Adama, feeling his gut crumple, "you know I can't risk the lives of the rest of us, no matter how much I personally want to, for one single…"

"Let me go out and search, then. In my Viper. I can sweep the area again. Maybe we missed…"

"Lieutenant," interjected Tigh, "you know we…"

"But damn it all to Hades Hole!" shouted Starbuck, pounding on the railing and forgetting himself as he edged closer to insubordination. Heads turned to look. "How in the frac…"

"_Lieutenant!"_ barked Tigh. "One more…"

"Frack," he bellowed, louder still, "maybe I don't give a…"

"That's enough!" boomed Tigh, face furious now. The _Galactica'_s Exec rarely let his temper show, even in a crisis. But, when it came, it could be legendary. He pointed towards the Ward Room. "Consider yourself on report! I want your written after-action report on my desk in one centar! _Lieutenant!_ After that, you can consider yourself relieved of duty and confined to quarters until further notice. Well?" Starbuck took a breath to speak, and all could sense it wasn't going to be either respectful or helpful.

"Commander!" cried a voice, piercing like a thunderclap through the gathering storm. It was Rigel, and she was practically bouncing up and down in her chair. "A signal!" Everyone seemed to move like a herd of bovines towards her. "It's Sheba's ID code."

**A sound of collective sighs of relief went up from several corners of the bridge. Starbuck and Tigh made their way over to Adama and Apollo, and neither was surprised to see that the black-haired Captain had thrown composure to the wind and was openly embracing his father to express his relief.**

"How in Hades did we miss this?" asked Boomer, as the shuttle maneuvered over the surface of the asteroid. Gray, airless, and rather dull, it sported nothing that might attract attention, with the small exception of the part of a Colonial Viper that was sticking up out of the dust. "Dietra and I flew over this one."

"All that radion from the missiles, I guess," said Apollo, stoic and stiff. "Besides, this side of the asteroid is just coming into its day. And Starbuck was right, it put our electronics in the turboflush for a while. Those Ziklagi warheads must have been designed for that."

Sheba's Viper had gone in at a shallow angle, digging a deep furrow in the primordial soil, coming at last to rest against the wall of a huge crater. The impact had disturbed the material above, and it had slid down, partially burying the ship, till only the top of the high engine was clearly visible.

"Fracktards!" spat Boomer, as they slowed to a hover over the Viper. "At least it's clearing now." The ship's transponder wasn't transmitting, but there was a weak pulse coming from the Viper just the same. After some enhancement, Rigel had identified it as Sheba's personal commlink/biomonitor, such as every Warrior wore strapped to a leg when on a mission. The fact that it was signaling gave them hope that Sheba was still alive inside her buried ship.

"Picking up a biopulse, too," said Apollo, barely able to hold in the relief that flooded him. "Remote link?"

"Trying." Boomer hit a few controls. "No telling what kind of damage that electro-radion pulse might have done to her ship." He played with the instruments some more, swearing softly. "Alright. The Viper's computer is answering, Apollo. Trying to link up….got it." Boomer tried various systems, finding a number of them dead, including the radio. He went through the menu, at last ordering the ship to fire the maneuvering thruster under the nose. After a few tense moments, there was a green light on his panel, and a spewing of dust from under the Viper. It fits and starts the nose came up, and Boomer ordered the Viper to extend her landing gear, crossing his fingers that the undercarriage hadn't been trashed along with so much else when the ship had bellied in. "Got it! At least the nose wheel is down."

"Okay, launch tether. I'll suit up."

"You got it, Captain."

After exiting the shuttle (and the drop to the surface was a slow and gentle one in the asteroid's microgravity), Apollo found walking in the dust difficult, sinking up to his ankles, his feet slipping as though he were trying to walk on ice. After a stumble, he reached the downed ship, and grabbed ahold of her. He looked around, the crazy horizon momentarily disorienting him. Above, he could see the shuttle, and behind her, the _Galactica, _partly filling the sky. On the "ground", he saw a huge rock sticking out of the dust, thrust up by the impact that had blasted out the ancient crater. _Lords, another few metrons, and…_

Carefully, he swept the heavy dust off the cockpit. His heart tightened when he saw a long crack in the canopy radiating from an impact point, but relaxed when he saw sealant smeared along it from the inside. Sheba was a dark form, her helmet lights off, and he flashed his illuminator into the cockpit. She wasn't moving, and he tried his commlink again. No answer. He knocked on the canopy. Nothing.

"Apollo?'

"I can't tell, Boomer. She's not moving, and the temperature control is off inside."

"Then we better hustle. Ready Captain?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Boomer." Apollo looked up, and grabbed the tethers descending from the shuttle hovering overhead. He took one, hooking it to the towing eye under the Viper's nose, then did the same with the second aft. "Okay, Boomer. Take her up!"

"Doc?"

"Either you, and the Lieutenant, are inordinately lucky, Captain, or you have quite an impressive attending angel," said Dr. Salik, as they stood over Sheba's lifepod. "She made it by a thin margin."

"How badly was she hurt?" asked Adama, next to Apollo. **On the other side of Apollo, holding his hand and with a deeply concerned expression was Boxey, standing on a small box so he could see into the pod. Even though Apollo had broken the news to his son to tell him that his soon-to-be stepmother was going to make it, it was clear that it had shaken up the little boy no small bit.**

"Broken right shoulder, fractured cervical vertebrae, and a punctured left lung. A few superficial burns from the electronics burning out. The radion blast fried most of the cushioning gear in her ship it seemed. Lords know how she retained either awareness or mobility after slamming her head into the canopy to activate her commlink, and spread that sealer gel on that crack."

"She's pretty damned hard to kill," said Apollo, smiling down at the sleeping Sheba. **"I shouldn't have doubted her. She's just like her father. Too stubborn to do anything but survive." **

"That and the asteroid had a soft surface and such light gravity. Any harder…" Salik let the sentence hang.

"I'll be on the bridge, Apollo," said Adama, smiling. "Thanks again, Doctor." **He then stopped and patted his grandson on the head. "You see, Boxey? Everything's going to be all right."**

**The little boy, who had been silent this whole time suddenly looked up at his grandfather, a pained expression. "Could this ever happen again? That she could...go away just like...just like Mommy did?"**

**The smile faded from Adama's face and he looked uncomfortably at Apollo, who had finally taken his gaze off Sheba and was now kneeling down so he could look his son in the eye.**

**"Boxey, what happened to Sheba is just part of her doing the job she'd best trained for," he said quietly, "It's all part of the risks she faces, and I face every day when I have to go away too. But because we're both good at what we do, we know how we can get through a tough scrape like this, even if it means we're banged up a bit. You have to..." he chose his words carefully, "You have to have faith in us, Boxey. We'd never take too much of a risk that would keep us from coming back to you. Always remember that. We…we both love you that much."**

**Boxey then turned back thoughtfully and looked at Sheba again, thinking of the things he had come to share with her since that wonderful morning when he had woken up and suddenly found all of the bitterness and distrust he'd felt towards Sheba gone forever.**

**"It's time to let her rest, gentlemen," Salik said somewhat uncomfortably.**

**"Let's go, Boxey," Apollo said gently, "Say goodbye to her."**

**The little boy nodded and seemed to relax as he waved to her sleeping form, "Goodbye, Mommy."**

**Apollo and Adama both felt a start inside as they realized that was the first time Boxey had ever called her anything other than Sheba.**

**And then, without saying anything else, Adama smiled at his son, and left.**

"Thanks, Doctor," said Apollo.

"Just doing my job, Commander." Salik studied Sheba's biomonitors a few moments, then turned to Apollo. "And you need to go do yours, Captain."

"Huh?"

"Exactly. Even with modern medicine, it still takes time for a Human body to heal after trauma like this. However, Lieutenant Sheba will heal just fine without you standing vigil over her, Captain, like some gallant knight of old. And, speaking as a doctor, you look like you haven't slept since Terra. So, I am ordering you to go. Now. Clear?"

"Yeah, Doc. I gotcha." But he didn't move.

"Famous last words," scowled Salik, but it was a fatherly scowl. "_Go!"_

"Going. Come on Boxey."

"Boxey, makes sure he gets to sleep," said the doctor.

"I will!"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Back on the bridge, Adama was studying the scanners closely, as the Battlestar left the unpleasant solar system behind. Once back on course, she would go to lightspeed once out of the system, and rendezvous with the Fleet in just under four centars.

But that wasn't all that was on his mind.

"Omega. Is the _Nem'lach_ still within range?"

"Barely, Commander. But we'll be able to see more clearly once were beyond this trinary sun."

"Very well. Concentrated scan for her, once we're clear.'

"Yes, Commander."

"Ziklagi ship on an intercept vector, sir," said Xax. "Closing."

"Time to intercept?" asked Kassa.

"We will reach the station first, sir."

"Excellent. Ubar-Zim, arm all weapons. Set all warhead detonators."

"Ship moving out from the station to intercept us, sir," said Xax. "Visual on the station in six _thodim_."

"Helm, give us all the speed you can."

"Plasma conduits at blue-line now, sir. Any more pressure and they'll blow us apart."

"Blow us apart then!" barked Kassa.

"Sir," replied the other. The battered ship roared on, ignoring all hails and demands to heave to. One thought, one desire only, burned in Kassa's dying brain as the gigantic station drew ever closer. He would be avenged, his honor would be restored, and he would be reunited with his beloved son.

"Ship moving to intercept," said Kraj, calmly. Like his CO, he had made his peace with the gods. "Station visual in one _thod_, sir."

"On screen," said Kassa, almost too low to be heard. As he spoke, an alarm blared. The _Nem'lach _lurched, and the stars seemed to bounce. "Helm?"

"Our engines, sir. Conduit pressure threatening rupture. We can't maintain warp much longer."

"We won't have to. Best speed," ordered Kassa, watching the tiny dot that was the _Aradon _Station grow bigger by the moment. Other things were growing larger as well. Ships, speeding towards him as he approached. Before he could draw another tortured breath, one of them opened fire on them, striking the _Nem'lach _a glancing blowThe next was more than glancing, and the Zohrloch shook badly.

"Engines, sir. We're dropping out," said Xax.

"So be it. Helm, to the station. Best possible speed."

"Sir."

Armed ships, from small patrol cutters to battlewagons were now swarming to close on the _Nem'lach_, firing as they passed.The Zohrloch returned fire as best they could, striking one attacker dead center, sending it flying into oblivion, and wounding another.

"We are hit!" cried Ubar-Zim, needlessly, as a shot struck home. The entire ship rocked, and both sparks and vapor spewed from under one panel. Lights dimmed, but Kassa would not give up now. _Aradon_ Station was now big and looming. Originally a natural asteroid orbiting this sun, it had been hollowed out and built over until it resembled a huge lumpy metal city floating in the sky, held in a stationary position by gravity thrusters. Towers, bays, atmospheric domes and defensive positions, all were growing now, filling Kassa's screen. Fire began to erupt from the station, as they slowly became sensible to their peril.

A shot connected, and connected hard. More panels blew out, smoke and debris went flying, and the main viewing screen went dead. Helmsman Kraj did as well, his station exploding, metal shards ripping him in half as it did so. Another blast from the defenders tore into their hull, and screams filled their ears. Ubar-Zim went down, chest speared by debris. He fell at Kassa's feet, and the dying Zohrloch bent down, sliding out of his seat. He cradled Ubar-Zim's head, and holding one mangled hand, looked into his eyes.

"S..sir…"gurgled the junior officer, eyes clouding over, uniform awash in blood, "_b…bakh'rha!" _And with a quite choking gasp, he was gone.

"Yes, my old friend," whispered Kassa, feeling the cold grip of death himself. He leaned down, and kissed the fallen warrior, then spared a glance upwards. The screen was dead, the bridge aflame, and he turned to his repeater array. The ship rocked again, and he slowly, with his last strength, punched in his final command. There was another explosion, and he could hear the loud whistle, as air shrieked out from the bridge into the void. Sparing one last look at his instruments, he saw the station, now a bloated mass in front of him. He pressed a button, and in the engine room, magnetic fields began dropping. Then, drawing a final, tormented breath, he roared at the enemy;

"_BAKH'RHA!"_

The speeding wreck, trailing fire like some insane meteor, plowed into one of the space station's docking bays at tens of thousands of metrons per millicenton. Shields and metal bulkheads were no protection against that kind of speed or impact, nor the overload detonation of her reactor core. The screaming spear tore deep into rock and steel, ripping through the station as a blade rips through flesh. Bulkheads tried to close, force fields attempted to engage, but it was no use against a flaming ball of near-molten destruction.

The Ziklagi space station was torn to shreds, ripping itself apart as a huge ball of nuclear fire ripped its guts out, greedy fingers reaching out to touch its own reactor. There was a blinding flash of light, as if a second sun had appeared in the system, spreading out further and further, consuming everything, eating ships, devouring even itself. It grew brighter and brighter…

Till there was only silence.

The last of the Vipers was back aboard when the _Galactica _once more took up her position at the head of the Fleet. Bojay had never been so glad to see anything since Molocay, and now that all Vipers were safely tucked into their proper places, the Fleet was back on course, resuming her journey.

Sheba had come up out of the fog of drugs about the time the squadrons had landed, and after some disorientation at finding herself in the recovery room, and a regen unit wrapped around her neck, wanted, nay _demanded_ to hear everything. Adama told her that, once she was out of Life Station and medically cleared for duty, she would not only be getting the full story, but also be sporting a new medal on her uniform for her actions in the battle just past.

"And what is our situation, Father?" asked Apollo.

"We're skirting the nebula, to conceal ourselves as long as possible," he replied. "Doctor Wilker is working to refine the cloaking system, but it consumes far too much power for continuous use. We nearly blew out half the electrical systems in engineering using it."

"Still, it did save us," said Tigh. "Nothing to look down on. A marvelous piece of technology."

"And one I fully intend to exploit when and where I can," said Adama. "I've no doubt the Ziklagi will continue to search for us, once they pick up the pieces. Both deep scan and communication intercepts have confirmed it. The space station was totally destroyed, and several dozen ships along with it. Kassa bought us precious time."

"A bizarre culture, however," said Tigh. "They seem to practically worship war. Using his ship like that." The Exec shrugged. "It's crazy. Almost Cain-like."

"To us, certainly," said Athena, crossing her arms. "I suppose it all makes sense to them though."

"Lieutenant Korl explained it to me somewhat," said Adama. "Kassa was apparently of a noble family that had fallen from grace. Their noble class is seemingly consumed with pride and the desire to outdo each other as well as their ancestors. They are always seeking eternal fame. Among them, defeat in battle is a great dishonor, but surviving it is of even greater shame. We saved them, rather than let them die, and so compounded their dishonor."

"That's nonsense," said Apollo. "Throwing away lives like that is sheer madness."

"I agree," said Adama. "We treasure life, and they seem to almost pride themselves on how they die. By sacrificing himself and those who chose to follow him in that way, Kassa regained his honor, and thus could ascend to meet the gods."

"This far from home?" said Athena. "Who'd know or care?"

"Their gods, apparently, Athena," said Adama, shaking his head.

"They're a bunch of screwballs. That's all I know," said Tigh. "So, what shall we do with them?"

"Colonel?" asked Athena.

"The remaining Zohrlochs. We have six still aboard the Fleet. Sargamesh will recover from his wounds, along with the rest from the _Nem'lach_. I'm just wondering what we're going to do with a bunch of war-crazy blue aliens is all."

"You asked to see me?" said Adama, in the inner ward of Life Station. Sargamesh was on his feet again, one arm still in a sling. Kassa's blade had ripped deep, coming close to killing him. Only Reese's timely discovery of the wounded man, and Korl having an identical blood grouping, had saved his life.

"Yes, Commander Adama. I did," said the Zohrloch, turning from staring out the small window at the stars. " I am once more, it would seem, in your debt."

"Hardly so, Sub-Commander. We merely…"

"Saved my life twice now. Three times, since leaving my homeworld, I have come close to death, and three times, Azgul has seen fit that I should live. So be it."

"You sound somewhat different from your compatriot."

"Kassa? I suppose I do," smiled the other. "Unlike him, I was not raised a noble, with all the ego and foolish pretensions of their caste. Yet, for all that, I do grieve for him." He looked at Adama, and noticed the surprised expression. "He was once a great warrior, Commander. A man with many victories. He was once a Captain with a ship of his own, a man on the fast track to the High Command one day. But he had suffered one too many disappointments at the hands of our…convoluted politics. It seemed he had chosen some of his relatives unwisely, and it had demoralized him as much as any demotion. The loss of his son was the final blow. I knew him, you see, from long ago. His mind was being eaten away with bitterness and loss. The end he chose was perhaps the best."

"I trust you don't intend to end your days so… spectacularly."

"Gods, no!" laughed Sargamesh. "I am no noble-house thin-skin. You see before you naught but a humble boy from the streets of Tamak, Commander. The storekeeper's son who wished to serve my people and my Zohr as best as I could."

"And you have."

"However, it has seemingly pleased the gods that I should, for the present at least, not only go on living, but become part of your people as well. Realistically, I understand that I can probably never go home again. The gods pay little heed to our desires, after all. Indeed, I had little to return home to.'

"No family at all?"

"None of close degree. My mother and father are long gone, and I was, as your Lieutenant Starbuck so well put it, married to my job."

"I see. So, what do you want of me?"

"I was born of a warrior people, Commander, and from my mother's breast raised to serve. First my father, then our Clan, then my Zohr. Since it has so clearly pleased Azgul that I should dwell among you…" he trailed off for a moment, sighing and looking down at the deck. Then he looked back up straight into Adama's eyes. "I ask for the citizenship of your nation, and to join your service. I wish to become one of your Warriors. It is, after all, all I know."

Adama was taken back somewhat. He wasn't sure what the alien soldier might want of him, but this had not been it. But, as he mulled it over, it made a certain sense. This man was both a highly trained military officer, with considerable combat experience, but also thoroughly steeped in engineering technologies and science that could mean their survival. He could bring much to their table, though he would also have much to _un-_learn as well.

"I will put your request for citizenship before the Council. I will even stand as sponsor. I don't foresee any problems."

"My thanks, Commander. You help my soul to find peace."

"See Colonel Tigh, once Doctor Salik decides you are recovered enough to be discharged. All applications for the Colonial Service cross his desk, Sub-Commander. After that, you can be tested for aptitude, and then we shall see."

"Again, my thanks, sir. If I am accepted, I shall be Sub-Commander no longer, of course. Merely _citizen_ Sargamesh."

"I wish you success in your endeavors, Sargamesh."

"And I you, Commander. May your Lords of Kobol ride with you among the stars."

As Adama left Life Station, he heard himself paged, and moved to the nearest telecom. It was, much to his surprise, Boomer.

"Sir, Boomer here. That unidentified fingerprint? We've got him!"

The door dissolved into a cloud of sparks and molten debris, belching smoke filling the corridor. Within millicentons, it fell with a loud crash to the deck, and Major Croft burst through the opening, four of his heavily armed men behind him, two more sealing off the ends of the corridor. After a tense moment, he called out into the corridor.

"Clear, Commander." Adama stepped over the still-smoldering door, and entered the small room. They were aboard the _Rising Star, _and these rooms had been the living quarters of Fred, the janitor. Among the few possessions littering the room, on a small table, was a collection of electronic parts, obviously scavenged from a variety of sources. One of Croft's men was scanning it, then gave his CO the nod. Adama leaned close to study the ball of wires and chips. It was still functioning, and Adama reached out to flip the switch off.

"So this was the transmitter he was using," he said. "The homing beacon."

"Yes, sir," said Croft. "Once we were clear of the nebula, it got a lot easier to track."

"And the identity he was using?"

"The janitor for this section of the ship, sir. Fred, a crippled ex-Warrior.' He handed Adama a hard-copy readout on the man. "I got Lieutenant Boomer's report on IDing that print about the same time we located the signal, sir. Chief Steward Zeibert tells me he's been employed here since just about anyone can remember."

"One of the best we've ever had," said the Chief Steward. "Never a complaint about his work in all my memory, Commander. But very quiet. Close. Kept to himself mostly."

"And now?" asked Adama, although he knew the answer.

"No sign of the imposter, sir," said Croft. "Somehow he got wind of us. Luck, or an animal sense of danger, but he's slipped through our fingers, sir." Croft was visibly deflated at losing his prey. Adama put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't blame yourself, Major. None of us were trained to deal with this sort of thing.

"Yes, sir. Anyway, we found Fred, the real one, less than a centar ago. What was left of him. Down in a vent abutting one of the ship's freezer units."

"How was he killed?"

"Strangulation I'd say, sir," replied Corporal Kuntz, who'd found the remains. "His throat looks to have been crushed. And his face…" Kuntz just shook his head.

"Well, it's a safe bet this creature won't be masquerading as this Fred anymore," said Apollo. "But why hide the body that way?"

"If I may," said Zeibert. "It would be difficult to dispose of a corpse in any usual way aboard the _Rising Star. _Alarms would sound if any airlocks were opened, and the refuse is constantly scanned before it goes through the recyclers. Anything like a Human body in there would be detected."

"And just dumping a corpse anywhere risks detection, especially after it starts to decay," said Adama.

"If we hadn't been conducting a search of this thoroughness, sir, we'd never have found it, even there," added Croft. "If I may say, sir, this creature is not only smart, but seems to know almost as much about our ships as we do."

"So it seems, Major. Especially considering how he got on the _Galactica_ bridge and bugged me. Alright, get the body to Life Station. I want a thorough autopsy as soon as possible. Tell Doctor Salik to run every kind of forensic test he can think of. We need to gather as much information as we can about this…creature."

"Yes, sir."

"And Boomer? Get this electronic junk to Wilker's lab. Anything."

"Right away sir."

Capital city of Eridu, built on a rocky peninisula jutting into the Polar Sea.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"By the Grace of God and the Lords of Kobol," said Adama into his log recorder late that evening, "we are now back on our course for Earth, the Fleet together once more. It has been more than a full day since the battle with the Ziklagi vessel, and there are as yet no signs of pursuit. From enemy intercepts, it appears that the Ziklagi lost over fifty vessels of all sorts in the destruction of the space station, leaving this sector of their space in chaos. Hopefully, they will be a long time in getting around to turning their attention to us. By then, hopefully, we will be out of their space forever.

"Lieutenant Sheba is recovering from her injuries sustained in the battle, and Doctor Salik says she can be released tomorrow. I am pleased at her recovery, both professionally as well as personally; I don't want anything more interfering with my son's planned sealing with her. It has taken long enough as it is for the two of them to realize they were meant for each other, _and_ win Boxey over to the idea as well. I just pray that all goes well from here on in.

"I am also informed that all but one of the rescued Zohrlochs will be fit to be released from Life Station tomorrow as well. I am, I confess, in something of a quandary about what to do with them. While they are highly trained, technical men who can no doubt be of use to us in our quest for survival, they are also highly strung and bellicose, with an easily injured sense of honor, seeing almost anything, however trivial, as an excuse for conflict. I hope that Sargamesh's expressed desire to join the Colonial Service betokens some measure of moderation on their part. Under the watchful eye of our senior Warriors, perhaps their aggressive energies can be channeled somewhat more constructively. At least for us.

"I also have learned from Doctor Salik that the dead man from the _Rising Star_ was killed several sectons ago, almost as soon as we had left the planet Boron-Din. And not merely killed, but horrifically savaged in fact. Mutilated. The wanton cruelty as well as cunning of this being makes it even more imperative that he be found and stopped. That the shape-shifter was able to so quickly and easily embed himself in our midst, in plain sight, is both frustrating and frightening. Since the discovery of his hiding place and the makeshift homing beacon, we have resumed the search, but once more he seems to have slipped through our fingers, at least for the moment. A thorough check of the _Rising Star_'s crew is under way, but with all the traffic on and off the ship beforehand, I privately hold out little hope for success from that quarter.

"Lieutenant Starbuck remains off flight status for the present. While I fully understand the impulse that led to his outburst to Colonel Tigh on the bridge, there can be no excuse for such insubordination to a superior officer. While he remains confined to quarters, Captain Apollo has assigned him the tasks of cadet performance evaluations, duty roster revisions, and supply requisition reviews. Perhaps some time spent on the mundanity of paperwork will help to revive a sense of discipline in the Lieutenant. For all of his undeniable prowess as a Warrior, he sometimes sets a less than acceptable example for our junior Warriors and newer cadets. This must stop."

Corporal Komma was glad to see that at long last, things were getting back to a state of normalcy aboard the _Galactica_. The recent ordeal with the Ziklagi vessel had, as a practical necessity, required all members of the Colonial Security Force to be placed on a state of battle alert readiness, and even one of the so-called "paper-pushers" like himself had to drop whatever he was doing and stay at his battle station for wherever he might be needed. It wasn't that Komma had actually been worried about the prospect of something serious that would put his life at risk, it was the frustration that he'd been forced to set aside his private investigation of the Livestock Ship's enigmatic custodian named Anglin, and his budding suspicion that the pudgy crewman had some connection with the elusive fugitive named Dravius and the jewel heist from the Libran Antiquities museum long ago.

Since the day he had realized that Anglin and Dravius shared a link of being logged in among Fleet survivors after the Destruction aboard the Libran vessel _Akrabi_, Komma had spent many long centars going over the names of all other survivors logged aboard the _Akrabi_ to see if there were other people worth investigating for possible links as well. A tie to either of the two men that held his interest would be enough to make him dig deeper. And of course, finding something more tangible about Anglin would have even been a bigger help.

The latter area had proved a dead-end to Komma's frustration. Getting someone to check out Anglin further meant cooperating with the Council Security unit, and like all other Colonial Security Guards, Komma was smart enough to know that the chances of expecting meaningful help from the black-shirt goons was next to nothing. So for now, he'd turned his attention away from Anglin to other names originally from the _Akrabi._ Clearly, the names of people who were no longer aboard the Libran vessel had the potential to be more worthwhile targets of further investigation. The last thing Komma believed was that one of Dravius's fellow criminials in the heist was still aboard the Libran vessel.

Now, with the danger past, he could get back to the work that he preferred and resume his investigation. At least, after he finished off the routine filing of all after action reports related to the recent incident with the Ziklagi.

At the top of the action reports was Major Croft's summary of the search for the homing beacon that had culminated aboard the _Rising Star_. As part of the final report, Croft had detailed not only the search aboard the luxury ship but a series of false leads his team had investigated previously aboard several other vessels.

The security guard was halfway through the action report when his eyes suddenly narrowed. Something buried in the depths of this mundane report, the kind of thing that only a trained paper pusher might have taken interest in, was suddenly leaping out in front of him with the impact of a laser blast on the stun setting.

_"Item. Lieutenant Scanlon investigated what at first seemed to be a promising lead aboard the passenger ship Amargi, when scans indicated that from the private quarters of a maintenance chief named Jabez, there was a low concentration of energy that appeared to have the properties of RF transmission activity. Chief Jabez vehemently protested our authority to search his quarters and threatened to make a formal protest to the Council over what he insisted was the violation of his rights under Colonial law. Lieutenant Scanlon was at that point prepared to initiate a full search at the point of forced entry, when word was relayed from Major Croft aboard the Rising Star that the location of the actual homing transmitter had been in fact pinpointed. Lieutenant Scanlon apologized to Chief Jabez for needlessly corncerning him and the Chief then explained that the source of the low level radio output was merely the result of a crude personal vid-com device that he was maintaining in his quarters in defiance of the Captain's regulations aboard the Amargi, and he was fearful of exposure on this matter. Prior to Lieutenant Scanlon's departure, Chief Jabez showed him the device in question and from our team's standpoint there is no need to conduct further investigation, as any disciplinary action Chief Jabez might be subject to should be seen entirely as a local affair to be determined by the Amargi's Captain in the event local authority discovers this device on their own."_

Komma set the report down and opened up his computer console and quickly hit several keys to bring up the file on Dravius and the jewel heist. It was time to do some quick cross-checking to make sure his reaction had been justified. What he was interested in was a physical description of some of the still missing jewels that the former curator, Professor Herodotus, had provided to Security some time ago.

Several centons later, Komma had closed down his work station, since he knew it was now time for him to pay a visit to a ship elsewhere in the Fleet. And if his hunch was right, then by day's end he was convinced the breakthrough he'd been looking for would finally be a reality.

The air was still thick with smoke, the stench of it strong in his nostrils, as awareness began to seep back. In the background alarms still blared. Xekash slowly opened his eye, and reached out for something to grab onto. He pulled himself up, painfully, to his feet, and surveyed what remained of his bridge. Corpses littered the deck, small fires still burned here and there, wreckage hung in tatters, the main screen was dead. He moved to an instrument cluster still feebly flickering with some measure of life. He tried to access internal sensors. Nothing. Diagnostics. Nothing. The main computer core. Gibberish. The last attack had left him crippled, blind, and deaf it seemed.

No, not entirely. A few bits and pieces began dribbling across the console. Engines were off-line, so was life support. Power levels were dropping fast, and all defensive systems read…

He turned in startled surprise, as one of the stations behind him burst noisily into a shower of sparks and flames. The lights got even dimmer, and a voice grated across his ears.

"Warning." It was the computer, he realized. How he _hated _talking machines! "Reactor damage severe. Containment stability compromised." _Oh great. As if there weren't have enough problems…_ "Containment breach in…" With a pop and a burst of static, the artificial voice went dead.

"Ulpash!" he called, looking around the bridge. "Gorox!" He checked his crewmen. Dead. Dead. De…no, he felt faint signs of life in one. Yes!

"My…Lord," hissed the injured Ulpash. "I…"

"Quiet," said Xekash, and pressed the intercom. "All hands, this is Over-Colonel Xekash. Engineering?" No answer. "Fire Control?" Silence. "Anyone, respond!" there was only silence from the intercom. "All hands, anyone who can hear me, get to the escape pods." He broke off coughing in the horrid air, then steeled himself to give the one order no ship's master likes to give. "Abandon ship! I repeat, all hands abandon ship!" He helped Ulpash to his feet, then pressed the distress beacon. Hopefully, if the thing still worked, someone would pick up their call for help, and find them. "Come on," he told Ulpash, moving painfully towards the escape hatch.

_Galactica!_ He repeated, over and over in his mind, stoking his anger to keep him going. _"Commander Adama, of the Colonial Battlestar Galactica. I shall not forget you!_

_Fleeing from the Cylon tyranny, the last Battlestar, _Galactica, _leads a rag-tag fugitive fleet on a lonely quest. A shining planet, known as Earth._


End file.
